THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


AGNES  C.  WIRT, 

AND    OTHER 

BOOKS  FOR  CHILDREN  AND  YOUTH. 


PUBLISHED  BY  THE 
AMERICAN  TRACT  SOCIETY. 

150  NASSAU-STREET,  NEW  YORK. 


A  27 


CONTENTS. 


65.  AGNES  C.  WIET. 

66.  ANOTHER  LILY  GATHERED. 

67.  ANNIE  AND  ROSABELLE. 

68.  SELF-CONTROL. 


AGNES  C.  WIRT. 


PUBLISHED  BY  THE 
AMERICAN   TRACT  SOCIETY. 

150  NASSAU-STREET,  NEW  YORK. 
139 


AGNES  C,  WIRT, 


"This  lovely  bud,  so  young  and  fair. 

Called  hence  by  early  doom, 
Just  came  to  show  how  sweet  a  flower 
In  paradise  should  bloom/' 

AGXES  C.  WIRT  was  the  youngest  daughter  of 
the  Hon.  William  Wirt,  and  almost  the  youngest 
member  of  a  large  and  happy  band  of  affection- 


447282 


4  AGNES  C.  WIRT. 

ate  sisters  and  brothers.  Her  peculiarly  lovely 
disposition,  and  the  natural  delicacy  of  her  con- 
stitution, combined  to  render  her  an  object  of 
especial  love  and  tender  solicitude  with  all  the 
household.  Mr.  AVirt  took  great  pains  with  the 
education  of  his  children,  giving  them  every  ad- 
vantage which  the  best  instructors,  aided  by  his 
own  personal  supervision,  could  afford  ;  and  in 
their  hours  of  recreation  he  often  joined  in  their 
youthful  sports,  which  he  possessed  the  happiest 
faculty  of  rendering  instructive  as  well  as  amus- 
ing. His  presence  was  therefore  always  hailed 
with  eager  delight  by  the  youthful  group,  and 
their  young  companions  coveted  no  higher  en- 
joyment than  the  privilege  of  spending  an  even- 
ing at  his  cheerful  fireside. 

In^this  happy  and  well-ordered  household  the 
children  felt  for  their  parents  the  highest  vener- 
ation, mingled  with  the  most  ardent  and  devoted 
affection  ;  and  towards  each  other  that  unselfish 
love  which  makes  us  prefer  another's  happiness 
before  our  own,  and  causes  an  atmosphere  of 
peace  and  joy  to  surround  every  family  circle 
in  which  it  exists.  Under  these  refining  and 
elevating  influences,  few  could  fail  to  be  improv- 
ed ;  and  certainly  they  were  not  lost  upon  Ag- 
nes, whoso  mind  early  displayed  a  wonderful 


AG-NES  C.  WIRT.  5 

maturity  and  power,  which  made  her  no  less  an 
object  of  parental  admiration  than  she  had  ever 
been  of  devoted  affection.  Her  face  too  was 
extremely  interesting,  for  to  the  beauty  of  her 
delicate  features  was  added  the  charm  of  a  love- 
ly and  intelligent  expression  of  countenance. 

Her  parents  resided  during  the  greater  part  of 
her  life  in  the  city  of  Washington,  where  they 
mingled  with  the  most  refined,  polished,  and  in- 
tellectual society.  Mr.  Wirt's  talents  and  repu- 
tation attracted  continually  a  large  number  of 
visitors  to  his  house,  among  whom  Agnes  was 
caressed  and  flattered,  being  admired  for  her 
superior  talents,  graceful  manners,  and  pleasing 
appearance.  Still  she  preserved  to  a  remarka- 
ble degree  her  natural  modesty  and  simplicity  of 
character.  Grateful  to  friends  who  showed  her 
kindness,  her  heart  went  forth  in  perpetual  offi- 
ces of  love  to  those  around  her,  while  she  re- 
mained apparently  unconscious  of  possessing  in 
herself  any  peculiar  charm  or  attraction.  The 
bright,  cheering,  animated  smile  which  lighted 
up  her  amiable  and  intelligent  face,  was  like  a 
ray  of  sunshine  to  the  sac\  and  weary  ;  and  her 
softly  spoken  words  of  love  were  treasured  up 
long  after  her  fair  young  form  had  passed  out  of 
sight.  With  her  school-fellows  and  playmates 


6  AG-NES  C.  W1RT. 

she  was  gay  and  joyous,  and  full  of  innocent 
mirth,  her  ringing  laugh  and  read}*  wit  ever  mak- 
ing their  childish  sports  merrier  and  brighter. 

But  though  the  pleasing  qualities  of  the  heart 
and  mind  which  have  been  described  were  well 
calculated  to  render  her  a  favorite  companion, 
there  was  a  still  higher  grace,  which  beautified 
every  other,  and  elevated  her  whole  character, 
without  which  she  could  not  have  produced  such 
strong  and  abiding  impressions,  nor  so  command- 
ed the  respect  as  well  as  the  affection  of  all  who 
knew  her.  This  was  the  grace  of  religion.  The 
kind  parent  who  was  so  carefully  cultivating  her 
mental  powers,  and  seeking  to  secure  her  hap- 
piness in  this  life,  was  yet  more  earnest  in  his 
efforts  to  bring  the  heart  of  his  little  daughter 
under  the  influence  of  the  best  and  wisest  teach- 
ing, namely,  that  of  our  blessed  Saviour  and  his 
divine  precepts.  She  was  "instructed  in  the 
holy  Scriptures  which  make  wise  unto  salva- 
tion," through  faith  in  Christ  and  the  renewal  of 
the  heart  b^  the  Holy  Spirit ;  and  in  the  exam- 
ple of  Christian  parents,  she  saw  religion  in  some 
of  its  most  attractive  and  pleasing  lights.  The 
Holy  Spirit  was  pleased  to  bless  these  means  of 
grace,  so  that  at  an  early  age  little  Agnes  gave 
evidence  that  her  heart  was  changed,  and  that 


AG-NES  C.  W1RT.  7 

she  had  become  a  truly  pious  child.  This  was 
the  principle  which  preserved  her  purity  of  heart, 
and  kept  her  humble  and  unpretending  in  the 
midst  of  flattery  and  temptation. 

Mr.  Kennedy  says  of  her,  in  his  interesting 
Life  of  Wirt,  "  From  earliest  childhood  an  object 
of  extraordinary  attraction  to  all  who  were  famil- 
iar with  Mr.  Wirt's  household,  she  possessed  a 
remarkable  intelligence  and  aptitude  of  mind, 
which  was  developed  in  a  devotion  to  study 
very  unusual  to  her  years  and  sex.  It  was  not 
less  expressed  in.  her  face,  which  sparkled  with 
physical  and  intellectual  beauty.  Her  manners 
won  all  hearts  by  their  gentleness  and  grace. 
The  cast  of  her  mind  was  thoughtful  arid  de- 
voutly religious.  These  qualities  had  so  plant- 
ed her  in  the  affections  of  her  family,  that  she 
seemed  to  lead  and  instruct  that  little  domestic 
circle  of  which  she  was  almost  the  youngest 
member. 

The  influence  of  her  Christian  character  was 
also  felt  by  all  her  3*011  ng  associates.  Never  did 
her  sprightliness  and  love  of  amusement  lead  her 
to  disregard  the  feelings  of  the  least  one  among 
them,  or  knowingly  to  violate  the  rules  of  her 
parents  and  teachers  ;  while  the  slightest  ap- 
proach to  deceit  or  falsehood  was  most  repulsive 


8  AG-NES  C.  W1RT. 

to  her.  If  ever  the  proposition  was  made  to  her 
by  a  young  friend  to  seek  some  forbidden  pleas- 
ure and  conceal  it  from  their  parents,  it  was  not 
easy  to  forget  the  look  of  shocked  surprise  with 
which  it  was  instantly  rejected,  nor  the  gentle 
and  conciliating  tone  with  which  she  would  after- 
wards add,  a  little  playfully,  as  if  unwilling  to 
believe  the  suggestion  seriously  made,  "That 
would  be  deceiving  our  parents,  you  know  ;  and 
I  would  n't  for  the  Avorld  do  that,  would  you  ?" 

No  wonder  that  each  year  this  dutiful,  affec- 
tionate, and  winning  child  became  more  and 
more  endeared  to  her  parents  and  friends,  and 
that  they  looked  forward  with  pleased  anticipa- 
tion and  the  highest  hopes  to  the  ripening  and 
maturing  of  the  tenderly  cherished  plant,  so  full 
of  beauty  and  promise.  Between  her  father 
and  herself  especially  the  bond  of  affection  was 
daily  becoming  stronger.  Congeniality  of  taste 
upon  literary  subjects,  as  well  as  many  other 
points  of  sympathy,  mutually  attracted  towards 
each  other  the  gifted  parent  and  child.  "  It  is  to 
her  influence,"  says  Mr.  Wirt?s  biographer,  "  we 
may  trace  some  of  the  strongest  religious  im- 
pressions of  her  father  while  she  lived  ;  and  in 
still  greater  distinctness  (he  devout  contrition 
and  fervid  piety  which,  after  her  death,  became 


AG-NES-C.  WiRT.  9 

so  engrossing  and  conspicuous  in  his  character 
during  the  remainder  of  his  life.  Many  beautiful 
letters  addressed  by  him  to  this  child  for  several 
years,  attest  the  estimate  he  made  of  her  under- 
standing, and  his  reverence  for  the  purity  of  her 
character.  From  the  topics  discussed  in  them, 
and  the  grave  tenor  of  the  style  in  many  which 
have  fallen  under  my  inspection,  the  reader  of 
them  would  never  suppose  the  correspondent  to 
be  a  little  girl  scarcely  emancipated  from  the 
nursery.  But  the  precocity  of  her  mind  seems 
fully  to  have  warranted  the  tone  of  these  letters. 
She  was  her  father's  constant  companion  in  his 
study ;  arranged  and  endorsed  his  papers  for 
him;  collected  .his  books  of  authority  when  he 
was  studying  his  cases  ;  made  notes  for  him  ; 
and  by  a  thousand  affectionate  assiduities,  so 
associated  herself  with  his  happiest  hours,  as  to 
render  her  presence  one  of  his  highest  delights, 
and  frequent  letters  to  her,  when  absent,  almost 
indispensable  to  his  content."  Kennedy's  Life 
of  Wirt. 

The  same  author  gives  us  an  extract  from  a 
memoir  of  this  beloved  daughter,  prepared  by 
her  father  not  long  after  her  death. 

"Young  as  she  was,"  says  her  father,  "she 
seemed  to  be  the  seal  and  connecting  bond  of 


10  AGNES  C.  \V1RT. 

the  whole  family.  Her  voice,  her  smile,  her  ani- 
mated, graceful  movements,  her  countless  little 
acts  and  expressions  of  kindness  and  love,  those 
'small  sweet  courtesies  of  life'  which  she  was  so 
continually  rendering  to  all  around  her,  and  with 
such  exquisite  grace  of  manner,  had  made  her 
necessary  to  every  individual  member  of  the 
household.  When  she  was  lost  to  us,  it  was  as 
if  the  keystone  of  the  arch  had  been  removed. 
There  was  a  healthfulness  in  the  glow  of  her 
fresh  and  young  affections,  which  animated  the 
rigid  nerves  of  age  ;  and  a  pleasantness  and 
beauty  in  the  play  of  her  innocent  thoughts  and 
feelings,  which  could  soothe  the  brow  of  care, 
and  light  up  a  smile  even  on  the  face  of  sorrow. 
To  me  she  was  not  only  the  companion  of  my 
studies,  but  the  sweetener  of  my  toils.  The 
painter,  it  is  said,  relieved  his  aching  eyes  by 
looking  on  a  curtain  of  green.  My  mind  in  its 
hour  of  deepest  fatigue  required  no  other  refresh- 
ment than  one  glance  at  my  beloved  child  as  she 
sat  beside  me." 

In  the  month  of  April,  1829,  Mr.  Wirt  remov- 
ed to  Baltimore  ;  and  Agnes'  affectionate  heart 
felt  keenly  the  separation  which  ensued  between 
many  dearly  loved  friends  of  her  earl)*  childhood, 
by  whom  the  loss  of  her  society  was  deeply  de- 


AONES  C.  WiRT.  11 

plored,  and  her  memory  cherished  with  admira- 
tion and  affection.  In  November  of  the  year 
1830,  her  health  became  increasingly  delicate  ; 
and  before  many  months  elapsed,  having  scarce- 
ly attained  her  sixteenth  year,  she  was  received 
into  the  heavenly  mansion  prepared  for  her  by 
that  Saviour  who  had  so  gently  drawn  her 
young  heart  to  himself  by  the  cords  of  his  ever- 
lasting love. 

Her  mother  says,  in  a  record  kept  of  her  ill- 
ness and  death,  from  which  in  substance  the 
following  facts  are  taken,  "It  was  about  the 
middle  of  November  that  she  began  to  complain 
of  palpitation  of  the  heart,  which  confined  her  to 
the  house,  and  prevented  her  exercising  in  any 
way.  She  was  of  course  denied  the  privilege  of 
going  to  church,  which  was  to  her  a  very  hard 
trial ;  and  as  soon  as  she  began  somewhat  to 
recover  from  this  distressing  affection,  she  would 
constantly  beg  the  doctor's  permission  to  go, 
saying,  '  Oh,  doctor,  if  I  wrap  myself  up  warm, 
wear  thick  shoes,  and  walk  very  slowly,  can't  I 
go  next  Sunday,  if  it  is  a  good  day?'  And  when 
at  last  he  held  out  a  prospect  of  her  being  short- 
ly indulged  in  her  wish,  her  joy  was  so  great 
that  she  could  not  keep  it  to  herself,  but  told  it 
to  every  one.  '  The  doctor  says,  in  two  more 


12  AGNES  C.  \V1RT. 

Sundays  he  hopes  I  may  be  able  to  go  to 
church.'"  With  the  Psalmist  she  could  say, 
"My  soul  longeth,  yea,  even  fainteth  for  the 
courts  of  the  Lord :  my  heart  and  my  flesh  cri- 
eth  out  for  the  living  God."  But  these  thirsting 
aspirations  of  her  spiritual  nature  were  to  be 
satisfied  in  no  earthly  temple,  and  through  no 
human  means.  Angels  were  waiting  to  wel- 
cfhie  her  into  the  upper  sanctuaiy,  and  to  the 
"pure  river  of  the  water  of  life,  clear  as  crys- 
tal, proceeding  out  of  the  throne  of  God  and  of 
the  Lamb." 

She  became  extremely  ill,  her  disease  assum- 
ing another  form.  "For  the  first  two  days," 
says  her  mother,  "the  physician  pronounced  it 
scarlet-fever  ;  but  in  this  he  proved  to  be  mis- 
taken. Upon  the  two  following  days  she  had  a 
violent  dysentery.  During  this  time  her  suffer- 
ings were  extreme ;  and  the  disease  not  yield- 
ing to  the  remedies  administered,  I  called  in  an- 
other physician,  and  finally  two  others  ;  but  all 
in  vain.  The  Lord  saw  it  to  be  wise  and  best 
to  refuse  her  to  our  prayers.  Oh  may  he  ena- 
ble us  to  say, 

" '  Thy  will,  thy  holy  will  be  done, 
Howe'er  it  cross  our  own.'  *' 

From  the  beginning  of  her  illness,  which  lasted 


AGNES  C.  W1RT.  13 

only  ten  days,  she  appeared  to  have  a  persua- 
sion that  she  should  never  recover,  and  exhibited 
throughout  the  same  lovely  characteristics  which 
made  her  so  attractive  in  health  ;  proving  to  all 
about  her  the  power  of  that  Saviour  whom  she 
had  chosen  as  the  guide  of  her  youth,  to  cheer, 
comfort,  and  sustain  when  heart  and  flesh  fail. 

With  the  same  love  of  truth  for  which  she  had 
always  been  distinguished,  she  would  say  of  dje 

of  her  physicians,  "I  love  Dr.  B .  I  love 

him  because  he  does  not  try  to  deceive  me.  He 
tells  me  that  I  am  very  ill." 

When  told  by  her  friends  that  her  symptoms 
were  thought  more  favorable,  she  would  reply 
that  she  felt  herself  to  be  worse  ;  yet  she  show- 
ed no  agitation,  but  evinced  a  calm  serenity  and 
resignation.  An  attendant,  one  day  upon  hand- 
ing her  a  dose  of  nauseous  medicine,  asked  if 
she  was  not  tired  of  taking  so  much  physic. 
"  Yes  ;  but  I  must  do  every  thing  that  the  doc- 
tor and  dear  mother  wish,"  she  replied,  with 
touching  patience. 

Feeling  at  another  time  a  sense  of  suffocation, 
owing,  as  the  physician  said,  to  some  nervous 

affection,  she  called  Mrs.  W ,  a  kind  friend 

who  was  with  her,  to  the  bedside,  and  whis- 
pered, "I  am  dying.  Send  dear  ma  out  of  the 


14  AGNES  C.  WIRT. 

room,  if  possible  ;  she  will  be  so  distressed ;" 
showing  even  at  such  a  moment  her  character- 
istic thoughtfulness  and  consideration  for  others, 
as  well  as  a  calmness  and  self-possession  truly 
wonderful,  under  such  circumstances,  for  a  child 
of  her  age. 

Sometimes  well-meaning  but  mistaken  friends 
would  try  to  cheer  and  comfort  her  in  the  possi- 
lj^  prospect  of  death,  by  saying  that  it  could 
have  no  terrors  for  her,  because  she  had  passed 
a  youth  of  so  much  innocence  and  loveliness, 
such  freedom  from  sin,  such  perfect  sweetness 
and  goodness  as  made  every  body  love  her,  and 
that  God  must  love  her  too.  But  to  such  re- 
marks she  would  reply  with  gentle  and  heartfelt 
humility,  "  You  do irt  know  me;  you  do  not  know 
my  secret  heart ;  but  God  knows  all  my  secret 
sins,  my  lukewarmness,  my  coldness  ;  and  if  he 
saves  me,"  raising  her  eyes  to  heaven  with  an 
expression  of  mingled  humility,  hope,  and  love, 
"it  is  for  Christ's  sake,  for  his  own  mercy's  sake, 
and  not  for  my  merits.  Oh  no.  He  knows  that 
I  am  very  sinful  and  unworthy."  Upon  one 
occasion  after  such  a  conversation,  thinking  her- 
self alone,  she  clasped  her  delicate  hands  and 
murmured  the  following  prayer  : 

"  0  God,  I  know  that  I  have  been  very  sinful : 


AGNES  C.  WIRT.  15 

but  thou  hast  said  In  thy  Holy  Bible  that  unto 
whom  much  is  forgiven,  that  one  shall  love  thee 
much.  Thou  seest  my  heart ;  thou  knowest 
how  I  love  thee.  If  thou  sparest  me  now,  I 
will  serve  thee  and  be  thine  on  earth.  If  thou 
takest  me  away,  I  will  love  thee  and  glorify  thee 
in  heaven."  Her  mother,  who  was  standing  by 
her  bedside,  remarked,  "That  is  a  sweet  prayer, 
my  beloved  child."  She,  sighing,  answered  ii^p 
low  voice,  "I  did  not  know  that  any  one  was 
listening  to  me." 

At  another  time,  when  alone  with  one  of  her 
sisters,  whom  she  playfully  designated  by  the 
title  of  her  "preacher,"  she  several  times  re- 
quested her  to  kneel  and  pray  for  her,  saying, 
"  I  can  pray  in  my  heart,  but  I  feel  too  weak  to 
pray  long.  I  want  you  to  read  the  Bible  to  me 
also,  dear  sister,  for  I  cannot  read  it  myself." 
Her  sufferings  soon  became  too  violent  to  admit 
of  sufficient  composure  to  listen  to  reading  at 
this  time." 

Two  days  before  her  death  she  fell  into  a 
short  slumber,  and  upon  awaking  asked  the  doc- 
tor what  day  of  the  month  it  was.  When  he 
answered,  "The  twenty-eighth,"  she  said,  "I  am 
so  glad,  for  I  thought  in  my  dream  just  now  that 
I  re%d  these  words  :  '  Departed  this  life,  on  the 


16  AGNES  C.  WIRT. 

twenty-second  of  December,  after  a  short  but 
severe  illness,  Agnes  Cabell  Wirt ;'  but,"  with 
a  faint  smile  to  her  mother,  who  stood  near  the 
bed,  she  added,  "the  day  is  passed  by."  She 
then  asked,  "  Did  you  hear  any  music  just  now  ?" 
and  being  answered  in  the  negative,  said,  "I 
never  heard  such  sweet,  such  heavenly  music 
in  my  life  as  I  heard  in  my  sleep  just  now." 
^Per  pastor,  the  Rev.  Dr.  Nevins,  visited  her 
upon  the  same  day,  carrying  with  him  a  volume 
of  the  "Village  Hymns,"  not  knowing  that  she 
had  a  copy  of  her  own.  "He  drew  her  atten- 
tion to  one  which  had  long  been  a  favorite  with 
her,"  says  her  mother,  ".and  after  he  left,  I  re- 
quested her  sister  Catharine  to  read  it  to  her, 
which  she  did  on  her  knees.  It  was  that  beau- 
tiful hymn, 

'"Jesus,  lover  of  my  soul, 
Let  me  to  thy  bosom  fly.' 

Agnes  kept  her  eyes,  which  beamed  with  super- 
natural brilliancy  and  dovelike  softness,  fixed  as 
if  upon  Him  whom  this  hymn  supplicates,  moving 
her  lips  in  broken  exclamations  of  love  and  faith, 
and  sometimes  repeating  words  of  the  hymn. 
She  retained  the  same  expression  for  some  mo- 
ments after  the  reading  ceased,  and  then  exclaim- 
ed, '  What  a  sweet,  sweet  hymn  : 


AONES  0.  WIRT.  17 

" '  Jesus,  lover  of  my  soul, 
Let  me  to  thy  bosom  fly.' 

Several  other  hymns  were  then  read  to  her  by 
her  sister,  to  all  of  which  she  listened  with  atten- 
tive pleasure,  particularly  when  they  spoke  of 
God's  tender  love  and  support  to  those  who  put 
their  trust  in  him.  'Yes,  0  yes,  he  will  never 
leave  me,  nor  forsake  me  ;'  and  other  similar  ex- 
clamations fell  from  her  dear  lips." 

After  her  sister  had  offered  a  prayer  for  her, 
the  doctor  advised  that  she  should  be  left  in 
undisturbed  quiet ;  but  she  presently  sent  again 
for  Catharine,  her  "  preacher,"  and  said,  "  If  you 
will  lie  down  by  me  and  hold  my  hand,  I  will 
try  to  sleep."  By  this  time  her  hands  had  be- 
come deadly  cold,  and  never  afterwards  recov- 
ered, even  for  a  moment,  the  least  sensible  heat. 
Her  sister,  kissing  her,  took  her  hand  between 
hers,  and  said,  "  Oh,  my  dear  sister,  if  God  raises 
you  up  from  this  sickness,  we  shall  be  so  happy 
together,  praising  him,  reading  the  Bible,  and 
praying  together." 

"Oh  yes,"  she  replied,  "if  he  does  spare  me, 
I  will  try  to  live  entirely  to  his  glory.  Oh,  I 
will  live  a  more  Christian  life  than  I  have  ever 
done  before.  But,"  after  a  slight  pause,  "I 
know  I  shall  never  recover  from  this  sickness. 

SEIL  iv.  130 


18  AG-NES  C.  WIRT. 

I  hope  you  pray  for  me,  my  dear  sister,  and 
that  all  my  dear  brothers  and  sisters  pray  for 
me.  I  pray  as  much  as  I  can  ;  but  I  am  so  very 
sick  that  I  cannot  pray  constantly,  as  I  wish." 

"  After  a  consultation  of  the  four  physicians 
on  the  day  preceding  her  death,"  continues  her 
mother,  "she  called  me  to  her,  and  said,  'Dear 
ma,  do  the  doctors  think  I  am  going  T  I  replied, 
*My  sweet  child,  the  doctors  all  assure  me  that 
if  your  time  has  nearly  come,  it  is  not  very  near, 
for  you  must  be  a  great  deal  weaker  first.'  She 
made  no  reply,  but  merely  closed  her  eyes  in 
cairn  resignation.  I  added,  'My  child,  Mr.  Xev- 
ins  assures  me  that  if  you  were  to  die  this  mo- 
ment, he  thinks  you  have  an  interest  in  Christ, 
and  are  prepared  for  heaven/  She  answered, 
1  He  does  not  know  my  secret  sins  ;  he  does  not 
see  my  heart." 

During  the  illness  of  little  Agnes,  Mr.  "Wirt 
was  absent  from  home,  engaged  in  important 
professional  business,  from  which  he  was  sum- 
moned to  attend  the  dying-bed  of  his  beloved 
child,  and  arrived  only  the  night  before  her 
death.  But  one  interview  was  permitted  them, 
which  by  the  direction  of  the  physicians  lasted 
only  a  few  moments.  "  During  this,"  writes  her 
mother,  "she  spoke  to  him  with  her  wonted 


AtfNES  C.  WIRT.  19 

playful  and  endearing  manner.  Upon  his  leav- 
ing the  room,  she  turned  to  our  neighbor,  who 
was  sitting  by  her,  and  sighing  deeply,  said,  '  I 
shall  never  see  him  again.'  '  Oh  yes,  my  dear, 

you  will,  if  you  wish  it/  said  Mrs.  W .  'I 

shall  never  be  able  to  bear  another  interview,' 
she  replied.  And  truly  she  never  saw  him  again, 
for  we  were  all  so  anxious  to  avoid  any  thing 
which  might  disturb  the  quiet  deemed  necessary 
for  her,  that  her  father  was  not  allowed  to  see 
her  again  until  she  was  past  all  hope,  and  in  the 
insensibility  of  death." 

About  candlelight  on  the  evening  of  her  death, 
she  awoke  from  a  disturbed  slumber  in  a  deliri- 
um, asked  to  have  her  new  wrapper  put  on,  and 
her  clothes  all  smoothed  down  nicely,  that  she 
might  be  ready  to  receive  her  father,  insisting 
that  she  was  as  well  as  she  ever  was  in  her 
life,  and  that  she  wished  to  be  nicely  dressed  to 
see  her  dear  father.  The  delirium  continued, 
with  occasional  intermissions,  until  her  spirit 
took  its  flight. 

Dr.  B ,  who  had  been  called  in  only  the 

day  before  her  death,  and  had  no  previous  know- 
ledge of  her  character,  was  selected  to  stay  with 
her  during  the  night,  the  family  physician  being 
obliged  to  leave  on  account  of  his  own  uncom- 


20  AGNES  C.  WIRT. 

fortable  feelings  portending  illness.  Dr.  B 

remarked  that  he  had  never  attended  so  inter- 
esting and  lovely  a  death-bed.  The  grateful  affec- 
tion and  the  sweet  tenderness  of  her  manner 
were  irresistibly  winning ;  while  the  purity  and 
beauty  of  her  sentiments,  uttered  even  in  deliri- 
um, was  more  touchingly  lovely  than  any  thing 
he  had  ever  heard. 

During  the  night  she  often  expressed  herself 
in  French ;  at  other  times  she  recited  passages 
of  poetry  with  the  most  touching  pathos,  occa- 
sionally raising  her  voice  and  speaking  with 
energy,  and  again  whispering  in  melodious  mur- 
murs, when  he  could  only  observe  from  the 
regular  cadence  of  her  voice,  and  the  chiming  of 
the  rhythm,  that  she  was  repeating  poetry.  He 
inquired  of  her  sisters  if  she  ever  composed  in 
rhyme,  for  that  a  great  deal  which  she  uttered 
was  new  to  him,  and  not  to  be  found  in  any  of 
the  standard  poets.  Her  manuscripts  show  that 
she  did  sometimes  indulge  in  this  style  of  writ- 
ing. 

During  her  delirium,  she  at  one  time  seemed 
strongly  possessed  with  the  idea  that  she  was 
at  sea  in  a  boat.  She  begged  that  the  boat 
might  not  be  too  much  crowded,  and  that  the 
little  children  whom  she  imagined  to  be  with  her 


AGNES  C.  WIRT.  21 

might  be  well  taken  care  of.  She  would  say, 
"Light  the  lamp,  and  call  the  little  children." 
And  as  one  of  the  servants  passed  through  the 
room,  she  asked,  "  Is  John's  father  afraid  to  trust 
himself  in  the  little  boat?  I  am  not  afraid  to 
trust  myself/'  murmuring  something  about  Je- 
sus being  on  the  other  shore  waiting  to  receive 
her. 

Her  mother,  who  had  been  exhausted  by  con- 
tinued watching  night  and  day,  was  persuaded 
to  lie  down  for  a  few  hours,  leaving  her  in  the 

care  of  the  physician  and  Mrs.  C ,  a  kind 

neighbor,  her  sisters  stealing  occasionally  into 
the  room ;  but  they  too  were  advised  to  lie 
down,  as  perfect  quiet  was  desirable,  and  hope 
had  not  been  abandoned.  Elizabeth  alone  re- 
mained, but  was  engaged  a  great  part  of  the 
time  in  another  room,  preparing  nourishment 
and  drink  for  her  by  the  doctor's  direction.  She 
often  called  for  her  dear  father  and  mother.  At 

length  Mrs.  C asked  if  she  should  send  for 

them.  "Not  now,"  she  answered.  Ever  con- 
siderate for  others,  she  would  not  have  them 
disturbed  even  then. 

Sometimes  she  fancied  the  doctor  and  Mrs. 

C to  be  her  father  and  mother,  and  would 

exclaim,  "Dear  father;  dear,  dear  father  and 


22  AGNES  C.  WIRT. 

mother,  I  love  you  so  much."  Suddenly,  about 
the  middle  of  the  night,  there  was  a  great  change 
for  the  worse.  Her  parents  were  then  called, 
but  she  was  not  conscious  of  their  presence, 
and  soon  calmly  slept  in  the  bosom  of  her  Sav- 
iour. 

Thus  closes  the  record  kept  by  a  tender  moth- 
er's hand,  and  preserved  for  many  years  by  an 
aged  saint,  one  of  Agnes'  most  valued  Christian 
friends,  whom  she  loved  with  almost  a  daugh- 
ter's affection,  and  by  whom  the  memory  of  her 
sweet  childhood  with  all  its  hallowed  influences 
was  fondly  cherished  until  the  day  of  her  own 
death,  which  occurred  only  a  short  time  since. 

The  following  account  is  given  by  the  Rev. 
Dr.  Xevins,  her  pastor,  of  his  interviews  with 
Agnes  during  her  last  illness. 

"  It  was  not  until  the  Monday  afternoon  pre- 
vious to  the  death  of  Agnes,  that  I  was  informed 
of  her  illness.  I  immediately  hastened  to  see 
her,  and  had  some  conversation  with  her,  chiefly 
with  regard  to  the  plan  and  way  of  salvation, 
and  with  particular  reference  to  its  infinite  ful- 
ness and  entire  freeness.  After  I  had  prayed 
with  her,  and  when  about  to  retire,  she  exacted 
of  me  a  promise  that  I  would  come  again  the 


AGNES  C.  WJRT.  23 

next  morning.  I  accordingly  visited  her  about 
nine  o'clock.  When  I  entered  the  room,  she 
said  in  her  sweet  smiling  manner,  '  Oh,  I  am  so 
glad  to  see  you ;  I  have  been  wanting  to  see 
you ;  I  have  been  looking  for  you  since  six 
o'clock.'  I  again  sat  by  her,  and  conversed  and 
prayed  with  her ;  but  I  do  not  now  recollect  the 
particulars  of  what  was  said  on  either  side. 

"I  saw  her  again  for  a  few  moments  on 
Wednesday  morning  ;  but  it  was  upon  the  after- 
noon of  that  day  that  I  had  the  conversation 
with  her  upon  which  I  look  back  with  most 
pleasure.  I  felt  a  painful  anxiety  as  I  approach- 
ed her  bed,  for  I  had  heard  from  an  attending 
friend  that  she  had  some  hours  before  seemed 
much  alarmed  at  the  prospect  of  death  ;  but  I 
was  soon  relieved.  Never  have  I  seen  so  in- 
teresting and  lovely  a  human  countenance  as 
she  exhibited  on  this  occasion.  It  was  not  the 
rose  and  the  lily  mingled  as  in  health ;  it  was 
the  loveliness  of  the  lily  alone,  that  lowly  flower 
of  the  valley,  that  covered  all  the  aspect,  except 
that  from  the  midst  of  it  looked  forth  an  eye 
bright  beyond  all  its  former  lustre.  I  never 
saw  so  much  expression  in  a  human  face.  I 
did  not  suppose  that  any  organization  of  matter 
could  express  so  much  mind  ;  and  yet  the  expres- 


24  AONES  C.  WJRT. 

sion  was  not  purely  of  intelligence,  but  of  love 
and  intellect  beautifully  blended. 

"  I  wish  that  I  could  remember  all  that  passed 
in  the  interview.  I  did  not  know  that  it  was  to 
be  our  last  conversation,  though  it  was  just 
what  I  could  have  wished  the  last  to  be.  I 
asked  if,  provided  it  was  God's  will  to  take  her 
then,  she  was  willing  to  go.  She  answered 
without  hesitation,  and  with  an  expression  the 
farthest  removed  from  anguish,  that  she  was 
willing.  She  gave  afterwards  some  reasons  why 
she  was  willing  to  go,  and  they  were  such  as 
became  a  Christian.  If  she  continued  longer  on 
earth,  she  would  but  sin  more.  This  was  the 
idea,  though  not  the  very  language.  I  told  her 
she  must  tell  her  parents  and  friends  not  to 
grieve  inordinately  for  her,  should  she  be  re- 
moved from  them.  She  signified  that  she  would, 
and  turning  to  me,  said,  her  sweetest  smile  ac- 
companying her  words, '  Wont  you  comfort  them  ?' 

"  She  expressed,  in  the  most  distinct  manner, 
and  in  the  most  decided  terms,  her  sole  reliance 
for  salvation  on  the  atoning  blood  of  Christ ;  and 
several  times  said  with  much  apparent  affection, 
1 1  do  love  Jesus  j  yes,  /  do  love  him.  He  loved 
me,  and  gave  himself  for  me.'  When  any  thing 
was  said  to  her  by  others  which  seemed  to  im- 


AGNES  C.  WIRT.  25 

ply  that  she  had  something  in  herself  that  she 
might  safely  rely  on,  as  that  she  had  always 
been  a  good  girl,  she  disclaimed  all  such  depend- 
ence. 'Ah/  she  would  say,  'you  don't  know 
me.7  She  manifestly  felt  that  she  needed  a 
Saviour  ;  and  if  she  needed  one,  who  does  not  ? 
She  said  to  me,  '  Do  you  think  that  I  have  expe- 
rienced a  change  of  heart  V  1  replied  that  if  she 
could  sincerely  say,  as  she  had  just  said,  that 
she  loved  Jesus,  she  must  have  experienced 
that  change.  I  asked  her  then,  if  she  thought 
she  had  experienced  a  change  of  heart.  She 
said  in  answer,  '  Sometimes  I  do  think  I  have  ; 
but  at  other  times  I  am  so  lukewarm  that  I 
doubt  it.' 

"  I  think  I  clearly  discerned  in  her  the  work- 
ing of  the  Spirit  of  God.  She  had  such  a  con- 
viction of  sin,  and  such  a  deep  sense  of  personal 
un worthiness,  as  could  not  have  been  derived 
from  any  other  source.  Christ  was  evidently 
her  hope  and  her  dependence.  And  riot  only 
then  did  she  show  this,  but  a  long  time  before 
she  had  manifested  that  she  loved  what  the 
Christian  loves,  and  hated  what  he  hates.  My 
soul  reposes  therefore  in  the  sweet  confidence 
that  to  her  to  die  was  gain,  and  that  she  is  now 
where  she  will  ever  be — with  Jesus  ;  in  a  place 


26  AGNES  C.  WIRT. 

she  would  not  leave  even  for  her  own  loved 
home,  and  among  those  who  love  her  far  better 
than  even  they  did  whom  she  has  left  behind 
her.  She  has  lost  nothing ;  she  has  gained 
every  thing." 

So  in  the  fair,  bright  morning  of  her  young 
life  was  this  happy,  highly  favored  Christian 
child  suffered  to  enter  upon  the  full  fruition  of 
those  blessed  hopes  and  cheering  promises,  by 
whose  attractive  light  the  alluring  joys  of  earth 
had  been  stripped  of  their  delusive  brightness. 
The  gifts  of  intellect,  beauty,  and  high  social 
position,  together  with  the  deepest  and  purest 
source  of  earthly  happiness,  kindred  love,  were 
all  alike  insufficient  to  awaken  one  sigh  of  regret 
when  but  the  foreshadowing  of  the  "  glory  to  be 
revealed''  was  presented  to  her  spiritual  eye. 
"The  King  in  his  beauty"  stood  beckoning  her 
to  join  the  white  apparelled  train  who  "follow 
the  Lamb  whithersoever  he  goeth."  No  won- 
der that  there  was  no  look  of  withdrawal  upon 
her  face,  who,  having  gladly  performed  her  earth- 
ly mission,  "walking  humbly  with  her  God," 
now  felt  the  throbbings  of  her  new  immortal 
nature,  and  the  nameless  bliss  of  entering  into 
the  presence  of  Him  whom  her  soul  loved. 


AONES  C.  WIRT.  27 

Her  earthly  work,  however,  was  not  yet  all 
ended,  for  as  the  young  bud,  which,  though  gath- 
ered in  its  first  fresh  beauty,  with  its  soft,  ten- 
der leaves  still  folded  upon  its  half  hidden  treas- 
ures, may  leave  a  lingering  fragrance  in  the  air  ; 
and  the  "dying  fall"  of  music  waked  by  a  mas- 
ter's hand,  may  return  again  and  again  in  melo- 
dious echoes  to  the  ravished  ear ;  so  in  the 
hearts  of  those  who  loved  her,  lived  the  memory 
of  little  Agnes'  Christian  graces  ;  her  holy  life 
and  happy  death  continuing  to  instruct,  attract, 
and  encourage,  long  after  her  voice  ceased  to  be 
heard  in  the  land  of  the  living. 

Her  father  in  a  letter  to  her  mother  thus 
touchingly  describes  the  sweet  impression  pro- 
duced upon  himself  by  her  removal : 

"My  sweet  angel  visits  me,  by  faith,  many 
times  in  the  course  of  the  day  and  night.  I 
want  only  my  blessed  Saviour's  assurance  of 
pardon  and  acceptance  to  be  at  peace.  I  wisli 
to  find  no  rest  short  of  rest  in  him." 

"Dearest  heart,  let  us  both  look  up  to  that 
heaven  where  our  angel  is,  and  from  which  she 
is  still  permitted  to  observe  us  with  interest — 
up  to  that  heaven  where  our  Saviour  dwells, 
and  from  which  he  is  showing  us  the  attractive 
face  of  our  blessed  and  happy  child,  and  bidding 


28  AGNES  C.  WIRT. 

us  prepare  to  come  to  her,  since  she  can  no  more 
visibly  come  to  us. 

"  I  have  no  taste  now  for  worldly  business  ;  I 
go  to  it  reluctantly.  I  would  keep  company 
only  with  my  Saviour  and  his  holy  book.  I 
dread  the  world — the  strife,  and  contention,  and 
emulation  of  the  bar.  Yet  I  will  do  my  duty ; 
this  is  part  of  my  religion." 

Again,  in  the  following  letter  to  a  friend,  he 
expresses  the  bitterness  of  his  anguish  at  her 
loss,  with  the  same  earnest  Christian  desire  to 
learn  the  heaven-appointed  lesson  of  submissive 
resignation,  and  a  more  entire  surrender  of  his 
heart  to  God. 

To  Judge  Carr. 

;t  BALTIMORE,  March  23,  1831. 
"I  owe  you  several  letters,  my  dear  friend, 
but  you  are  kind,  and  can  allow  for  my  situa- 
tion. I  have  had  such  a  winter  as  I  never  had 
before — heavy  causes  to  argue,  with  a  broken 
heart  and  exhausted  strength,  when  at  every 
step  I  felt  far  more  disposed  to  lie  down  in  the 
grave.  It  was  not  in  such  a  frame  that  I  could 
address  you.  Even  now  I  am  unfit  to  write, 
for  to  me  the  heavens  are  hung  with  mourning 
and  the  earth  covered  with  darkness.  The 
charm  of  life  is  gone.  I  look  at  my  belovrd 


AGNES  C.  WIRT.  29 

wife  and  my  still  remaining  circle  of  affectionate 
children,  and  my  heart  reproaches  me  with  in- 
gratitude to  heaven.  I  have  been  too  blessed 
for  rny  deserts.  The  selection  of  the  victim  is  too 
striking  to  be  misunderstood.  There  is  a  better 
world,  of  which  I  have  thought  too  little.  To 
that  world  she  is  gone,  and  thither  my  affections 
have  followed  her.  This  was  heaven's  design. 
I  see  and  feel  it  as  distinctly  as  if  an  angel  had 
revealed  it.  I  often  imagine  that  I  can  see  her 
beckoning  me  to  the  happy  world  to  which  she 
has  gone.  She  was  my  companion — my  office 
companion,  my  librarian,  my  clerk.  My  papers 
now  bear  her  endorsement.  She  pursued  her 
studies  in  my  office,  by  my  side  ;  sat  with  me, 
walked  with  me  ;  was  my  inexpressibly  sweet 
and  inseparable  companion  ;  never  left  me  but  to 
go  and  sit  with  her  mother.  We  knew  all  her 
intelligence,  all  her  pure  and  delicate  sensibility, 
the  quickness  and  power  of  her  perceptions,  her 
seraphic  love.  She  was  all  love,  and  loved  all 
God's  creation,  even  the  animals,  trees,  and 
plants.  She  loved  her  God  and  Saviour  with  an 
angel's  love,  and  died  like  a  saint."  Kenned37's 
Life  of  Wirt. 

"From  this  period,"  says  Mr.  Kennedy,  "we 
date  a  very  notable  change  in  the  aspect  of  Mr. 


30  AG-NES  C.  \VIRT. 

Wirt's  life.  He  lost,  never  entirely  to  recover 
it,  that  buoyancy  of  spirit  which  heretofore,  even 
in  his  gravest  moments,  was  wont  to  break  forth 
in  irrepressible  sallies.  This  sad  event  affected 
his  health,  and  secretly  preyed  upon  his  mind, 
to  a  degree  which  is  supposed  to  have  hastened 
the  termination  of  his  life.  That  religious  rever- 
ence which  had  long  been  a  sentiment  of  his 
heart,  now  grew  into  a  pervading  and  almost 
engrossing  passion.  It  chastened  his  ambition, 
sobered  his  views  of  temporal  life,  and  led  to 
the  abandonment  of  schemes  and  fancies  which 
for  a  long  time  had  formed  the  staple  of  his 
hopes  in  the  pursuit  of  his  profession.  He  be- 
came more  than  ever  a  student  in  spiritual  know- 
ledge, and  a  most  devout  and  assiduous  Chris- 
tian. I  find  among  papers  belonging  to  this 
stage  of  his  history  much  pious  meditation  and 
religious  discourse,  preserved  in  essays  and 
other  writings,  which  seem  to  have  occupied  a 
large  share  of  his  time.  Age  advanced  rapidly, 
making  its  strong  marks  upon  his  frame,  but 
not  subduing  or  even  diminishing  the  ardor  of 
his  industry,  or  blunting  the  edge  of  his  facul- 
ties. It  made  him  wiser  and  better,  without 
abating  the  strength  of  his  judgment  or  intellect. 
Occasionally  we  may  find  his  former  playfulness 


AONES  C.  W1RT.  31 

revived,  but  we  cannot  help  seeing  in  it  how 
much  it  was  tempered  and  abbreviated  by  the 
ever-returning  memory  of  his  affliction." 

May  the  youthful  readers  of  this  imperfect 
sketch  of  little  Agnes  Wirt  remember  what  it 
was  which  gave  such  an  irresistible  charm  to 
her  character  in  health,  enabled  her  to  be  so 
patient  and  uncomplaining  throughout  her  sick- 
ness, and  in  the  hour  of  death  to  relinquish  with- 
out repining  the  brightest  earthly  prospects  and 
the  most  tenderly  beloved  relatives  and  friends. 
Following  her  example,  may  many  of  them  be 
embraced  within  the  fold  of  that  "good  Shep- 
herd" who  leads  all  his  trusting  lambs  to  the 
same  "still  waters"  of  comfort,  and  to  the  same 
"green  pastures"  of  hope.  And  like  her,  hav- 
ing kindled  their  lamps  at  the  great  Source  and 
Fountain  of  light  and  love,  may  they  finally  be 
placed  amid  those  "stars"  in  the  firmament  of 
heaven  which  shall  continue  to  shine  through- 
out eternity  in  ever-increasing  lustre  with  the 
reflected  beams  of  the  Sun  of  righteousness. 


32  AGNES  C.  WIRT. 


AGNES'  FAVORITE  HYMN. 

Jesus,  lover  of  my  soul, 
Let  me  to  thy  bosom  fly, 

While  the  billows  near  me  roll. 
While  the  tempest  still  is  high : 

Hide  me,  O  my  Saviour,  hide, 
Till  the  storm  of  life  is  past ; 

Safe  into  the  haven  guide  ; 

0  receive  my  soul  at  last. 

Other  refuge  have  I  none, 

Hangs  my  helpless  soul  on  thee  ; 
Leave,  ah,  leave  me  not  alone  ; 

Still  support  and  comfort  me. 
All  my  trust  on  thee  is  stayed  ; 

All  my  help  from  thee  I  bring : 
Cover  my  defenceless  head 

With  the  shadow  of  thy  wing. 

Thou.  O  Christ,  art  all  I  want ; 

More  than  all  in  thee  I  find ; 
Raise  the  fallen,  cheer  the  faint, 

Heal  the  sick,  and  lead  the  blind. 
Just  and  holy  is  thy  name  ; 

1  am  all  unrighteousness : 
Vile  and  full  of  sin  I  am ; 

Thou  art  full  of  truth  and  grace. 


ANOTHER  LILY  GATHERED ; 

OR, 

CONVERSION  OF  JAMES  LAING. 

BY  REV.  ROBERT  M.  M'CHEYNE. 


PUBLISHED  BY  THE 
AMERICAN   TRACT   SOCIETY. 

,150  NASSAU-STREET,  NEW  YORK. 
131 


ANOTHER  LILY  GATHERED; 

OK, 
CONVERSION   OF   JAMES   LAING. 

BY  REV.  ROBERT  M.  M'CHEYNE. 
Abridged. 


'•  My  beloved  is  gone  down  into  his  garden  to  gather  lilies."  Sol. 
Song  6: 2. 

IN  this  little  narrative  we  would  raise  up  a 
humble  stone  to  the  memory  of  a  dear  boy  who 
now  sleeps  in  Jesus,  and  to  the  praise  of  that 

447282 


4  ANOTHER  LILY  OATHERED. 

God   and    Saviour  who  planted,  watered,  and 
gathered  his  own  lily. 

James  Laing  was  born  on  the  28th  of  July, 
1828,  and  lost  his  mother  before  he  was  eight 
years  old.  He  was  seized  with  the  same  fever 
as  that  of  which  his  mother  died,  and  he  never 
was  in  good  health  afterwards.  He  was  natu- 
rally a  very  quiet  and  reserved  boy — not  so 
rough  in  his  language  as  many  of  the  boys 
around.  One  day,  when  he  was  lying  on  his 
dying  bed,  I  was  asking  his  sister  what  kind  of 
boy  he  had  been.  She  said  that  he  was  as  wick- 
ed as  other  boys,  only  he  did  not  swear.  After 
I  was  gone,  he  told  his  sister  that  she  was 
wrong.  He  never  used  to  swear  at  home,  be- 
cause he  was  afraid  he  would  be  punished  for 
it ;  but  when  among  his  companions  he  often 
used  to  swear.  "Ah,"  added  he,  "it  is  a  won- 
der God  did  not  send  me  to  hell  when  I  was  a 
swearer."  Another  day,  hearing  some  boys 
swearing  near  his  window,  he  said,  "It  is  a 
wonder  God  did  not  leave  me  to  swear  among 
these  boys  yet."  Such  was  the  early  life  of 
this  boy.  He  did  not  know  the  God  who  guid- 
ed him,  and  in  whose  hand  his  breath  was  :  and 
such  is  the  life  of  most  of  our  children  ;  they 
"cast  off  fear,  and  restrain  prayer  before  God." 


ANOTHER  LILY  GATHERED.  5 

The  Holy  Spirit  strives  even  with  children  ; 
and  when  they  grieve  him,  and  resist  his  awak- 
ening hand,  he  suffers  long  with  them.  The 
autumn  of  1839  was  a  solemn  time  in  this  place. 
The  divine  ladder  was  set  down  in  the  midst  of 
our  Bethel,  and  its  top  reached  up  to  heaven  ; 
and  even  strangers  were  forced  to  say,  "  Surely 
God  is  in  this  place."  0  that  these  sweet  days 
would  come  back  again.  James'  elder  brother 
Alexander,  a  sailor-boy,  was  at  that  time  awak- 
ened, arid  the  same  glorious  Spirit  seemed  to 
visit  James  for  a  time.  One  evening  their  sis- 
ter Margaret,  returning  home  from  a  meeting, 
found  her  two  brothers  on  their  knees  earnestly 
crying  for  mercy.  She  did  not  interrupt  them, 
but  Alexander  afterwards  said  to  her,  "Jamie 
•feels  that  he  needs  Christ  too.  We  will  easily 
know  if  he  be  in  earnest,  for  then  he  will  not 
need  to  be  bidden  to  pray."  The  test  was  a 
trying  one  ;  James  soon  gave  up  secret  prayer, 
and  proved  that  his  goodness  was  like  a  morn- 
ing cloud  and  the  early  dew  which  goeth  away. 
This  is  the  mark  of  the  hypocrite  laid  down  by 
Job :  "  Will  he  always  call  upon  God  ?"  Job 
27  :  10. 

Another  night  Margaret  observed  James  com- 
ing from  the  prayer-meeting  in  the  school  in 


6  ANOTHER  LILY  OATHERED. 

great  distress.  He  kept  close  by  the  wall  of 
the  church,  that  he  might  escape  observation. 
He  was  much  concerned  that  night,  and  after 
retiring  to  rest,  said  to  his  sister  in  his  own 
Scottish  dialect,  "There's  me  come  awa'  without 
Christ  to-night  again." 

One  Thursday  evening  he  attended  the  week- 
ly meeting  held  in  the  church.  The  passage 
explained  was  Romans  4  :  4-6,  and  sinners  were 
urged  to  receive  the  "righteousness  without 
works."  Many  were  deeply  affected,  and  would 
not  go  away  even  after  the  blessing.  James 
was  one  of  those  who  remained,  and  when  I 
came  to  him  he  was  weeping  bitterly.  I  asked 
him  if  he  cared  for  his  soul.  He  said,  "Whiles," 
that  is,  sometimes.  I  asked  if  he  prayed.  He 
said,  "Yes."  He  was  much  concerned  on  his 
return  home  that  night  both  for  others  and  for 
his  own  soul  But  these  dew-drops  were  soon 
dried  up  again. 

He  attended  the  Sabbath-school  in  the  lane 
where  their  cottage  stands.  Often  when  the 
teacher  was  reading  the  Bible,  or  some  awaken- 
ing anecdote,  the  tears  flowed  down  his  cheeks  ; 
but  he  tried  to  conceal  his  emotion  from  the 
other  boys,  lest  they  should  laugh  at  him.  He 
afterwards  said,  in  his  last  illness,  "Oh  that  I 


ANOTHER  LILY  GATHERED.  7 

had  just  another  night  of  the  Sabbath-school. 
I  would  not  care  though  they  should  laugh  at 
me  now."  Sometimes  during  the  reading  and 
prayer  in  the  family,  the  word  of  God  was  like 
a  fire  to  him,  so  that  he  could  not  bear  it ;  and 
after  it  was  over  he  would  run  to  his  wild  com- 
panions, in  order  to  drown  the  cries  of  his  awak- 
ened conscience. 

In  July,  1841,  he  went  up  to  Glammis  for  his 
health.  I  was  preaching  in  the  neighborhood, 
and  he  wished  much  to  go  and  hear,  but  was 
not  able  to  walk  the  distance.  One  night  he 
heard  Mr.  Cormick  preach  in  a  cottage  on  John 
7  :  37.  He  felt  it  deeply,  and  wept  bitterly,  but 
he  remarked  that  none  of  the  people  wept.  He 
knew  well  when  people  showed  any  concern  for 
their  soul ;  and  he  often  remarked  that  to  be 
anxious  is  not  to  be  "in  Christ."  When  he 
came  home,  he  spoke  much  of  the  carelessness 
of  the  people  where  he  had  been.  "Ah,  Marga- 
ret, there  was  no  Bible  read  yonder.  The  peo- 
ple a'  went  to  their  bed  just  as  if  there  had  not 
been  a  God."  What  a  faithful  picture  is  this  of 
the  state  of  many  of  our  country  parishes. 

The  day  of  Im  manual's  power,  and  the  time 
of  love,  was  however  near  at  hand.  As  the  cold 
winds  of  October  set  in,  his  sickly  frame  was 


8  ANOTHER  LILY  GATHERED. 

much  affected  ;  he  became  weak  and  breathless. 
One  Tuesday  in  the  end  of  October,  he  turned 
decidedly  worse,  and  became  intensely  anxious 
about  the  salvation  of  his  soul.  His  lamentable 
cry  was,  "  0  Jesus,  save  me,  save  me  1"  Mar- 
garet asked  if  his  concern  was  real,  for  he  had 
often  deceived  her  hopes  before.  He  wept,  and 
said,  "Yes."  His  body  was  greatly  pained,  but 
he  forgot  all  in  the  intense  anxiety  for  his  pre- 
cious never-dying  soul.  On  the  Saturday  I  paid 
a  visit  to  their  humble  cottage,  and  found  the 
little  sufferer  sitting  by  the  fire.  He  began  to 
weep  bitterly  while  I  spoke  to  him  of  Jesus 
having  come  into  the  world  "to  save  sinners"  I 
was  enabled  in  a  simple  manner  to  answer  the 
objections  that  sinners  make  to  an  immediate 
closing  with  Christ.  Margaret  wondered  ;  for 
I  could  not  have  spoken  more  aptly  to  the  case 
of  her  brother  if  I  had  known  it ;  and  she  in- 
wardly thanked  God,  for  she  saw  that  he  was 
directing  it.  James  spent  the  rest  of  the  day  on 
his  knees  in  evident  distress  of  soul.  Oh  how 
little  the  most  of  those  called  Christians  know 
what  it  is  to  pass  through  such  deep  waters. 
Margaret  asked  him  if  he  was  seeking  Jesus 
He  said,  "Yes."  She  asked  if  he  would  like 
any  thing — a  bit  of  bread.  He  said,  "No;  but 


ANOTHER  LILY  G-ATHERED.  9 

I  would  take  a  bit  of  the  bread  of  life  if  you 
would  give  it  me."  She  replied,  "  I  cannot  give 
you  that ;  but  if  you  seek  it,  you  will  get  it." 
He  remained  alone  till  evening,  and  was  never 
off  his  knees.  Towards  night  he  came  to  the 
other  end  of  the  cottage,  and  put  this  question : 
"Have  I  only  to  believe  that  Jesus  died  for  sin- 
ners ;  is  that  all  ?"  He  was  told,  "  Yes."  "  Well, 
I  believe  that  Jesus  died  for  me,  for  I  am  a  poor 
hell-deserving  sinner.  I  have  been  praying  all 
this  afternoon,  that  as  Jesus  shed  his  blood  for 
sinners,  he  would  sprinkle  some  of  it  upon  me, 
and  he  did  it."  He  then  turned  to  Romans  5  :  8, 
and  read  these  words:  "While  we  were  yet 
sinners,  Christ  died  for  us."  His  sister  wept 
for  joy,  and  James  added,  "  I  am  not  afraid  to 
die  now,  for  Jesus  has  died  for  me."  Often  after 
this  he  bade  his  sister  read  to  him  Romans  5,  and 
Psalms  103,  116.  These  were  favorite  portions 
with  him. 

From  that  day  it  was  a  pleasant  duty  indeed 
to  visit  the  cottage  of  this  youthful  believer. 
Many  a  happy  hour  have  I  spent  beneath  that 
humble  roof.  Instead  of  dropping  passing  re- 
marks, I  used  generally  to  explain  a  passage  of 
the  Bible,  that  he  might  grow  in  knowledge.  I 
fear  that,  in  general,  we  are  not  sufficiently  care- 


10  ANOTHER  LILY  GATHERED. 

ful  in  regularly  instructing  the  sick  and  dying.  A 
pious  expression  and  a  fervent  prayer  are  not 
enough  to  feed  the  soul  that  is  passing  through 
the  dark  valley.  Surely  if  sound  and  spiritual 
nourishment  is  needed  by  the  soul  at  any  time, 
it  is  in  such  an  hour,  when  Satan  uses  all  his 
arts  to  disturb  and  destroy. 

One  Thursday  afternoon  I  spoke  to  him  on 
Matt.  23:37,  "How  often  would  I  have  gath- 
ered your  children."  He  was  in  great  darkness 
that  day,  and  weeping  bitterly,  said,  "I  fear  I 
have  never  been  gathered  to  Christ ;  but  if  I 
have  never  been  gathered,  0  that  I  were  gath- 
ered to  Christ  nowT  After  I  was  gone,  he  said, 
"It  would  give  me  no  peace,  though  the  minis- 
ter and  every  body  said  I  was  a  Christian,  if  I 
had  not  the,  sense  of  it  between  God  "and  myself." 

He  was  very  fond  of  the  Song  of  Solomon, 
and  many  parts  of  it  were  expounded  to  him. 
One  day  I  spoke  on  Song  5  :  13,  "His  lips  are 
like  lilies,  dropping  sweet-smelling  myrrh"  I 
told  him  that  these  were  some  of  the  drops  that 
fell  from  the  lips  of  Jesus  :  "If  any  man  thirst, 
let  him  come  to  me  and  drink."  "I  came  to 
seek  and  to  save  that  which  was  lost."  "Wilt 
thou  be  made  whole  ?"  "  I  give  unto  them  eter- 
nal life."  He  said  solemnly,  "That's  fine." 


ANOTHER  LILY  G-ATHERED.    .          11 

Another  day,  "I  am  black,  but  comely,"  Song 
1  :  5,  was  explained.  He  said,  "I  am  black 
even  as  hell  in  myself,  but  Pm  all  fair  in  Je- 
sus." This  was  ever  after  a  common  expres- 
sion of  his.  Another  day  I  spoke  on  Song  5:15, 
"His  legs  are  like  pillars  of  marble  set  upon 
sockets  of  fine  gold  ;"  and  showed  the  almighty 
strength  of  the  Lord  Jesus.  The  next  day, 
when  I  came  in  I  asked  him  how  he  was ;  but 
without  answering  my  question,  he  said,  "I  am 
glad  you  told  me  that  about  Jesus'  legs  being 
like  pillars  of  marble,  for  now  I  see  that  he  is 
able  to  carry  me  and  all  my  sins." 

On  one  occasion,  he  said,  "I  am  glad  this 
Psalm  is  in  the  Bible."  "What  Psalm?"  He 
answered,  "'Yea,  though  I  walk  through  the 
valley  of  the  shadow  of  death.'  God  has  prom- 
ised to  be  with  me  ;  and  He  is  as  good  as  his 
word." 

At  another  time  I  read  to  him  Isaiah  43  :  2, 
"When  thou  passest  through  the  waters,  I  will 
be  with  thee ;"  and  explained  that  when  he 
came  to  the  deep,  deep  waters,  the  Lord  Jesus 
would  put  his  foot  down  beside  his,  and  wade 
with  him.  This  often  comforted  him,  for  he  be- 
lieved it  as  firmly  as  if  he  had  seen  the  pierced 
foot  of  Jesus  placed  beside  his  own  •  and  he  said 


12  ANOTHER  LILY  G-ATHERED. 

to  Margaret,  "  If  Christ  put  down  bis  foot  beside 
mine,  then  I  have  nothing  to  fear." 

One  Sabbath  I  had  been  preaching  on  Caleb 
following  the  Lord  fully,  Num.  14  :  24,  and  had 
suggested  that  every  sin  committed  after  con- 
version might  take  away  something  from  the 
believer's  weight  of  eternal  glory.  Alexander, 
his  brother,  was  present,  it  being  his  only  Sab- 
bath on  shore.  He  was  much  troubled,  and 
said,  "Ah,  I  fear  mine  will  be  all  lost."  He  re- 
peated the  statement  to  James,  who  was  also 
troubled.  Alexander  said,  "You  don't  need  to 
be  troubled,  Jamie ;  you  are  holy."  James 
wept,  and  said,  "I  wonder  to  hear  3*011  speak." 
Alexander  said,  "Ah,  but  you  are  holier  than 
me." 

In  the  same  sermon  I  had  said  that  if  believ- 
ers did  nothing  for  Christ,  they  would  get  in  at 
the  door  of  heaven,  but  nothing  more.  The 
sailor-boy  told  this  to  his  brother,  who  wept 
again,  saying,  "  I  have  done  nothing  for  Christ." 
Alexander  said  he  had  done  less.  James  add- 
ed, "  I  would  like  to  be  near  Jesus.  I  could  not 
be  happy  unless  I  was  near  him."  Speaking  of 
those  who  had  gone  to  glory  long  ago,  James 
said  that  "those  who  died  in  Christ  now,  and 
did  most  for  him,  Jesus  would  take  them  in  by," 


ANOTHER  LILY  OATHERED.  13 

that  is,  near  to  himself,  "though  they  were  late 
of  coming." 

How  lovely  this  simple  domestic  scene.  Hap- 
py families,  but  ah,  how  few,  where  the  children 
fear  the  Lord,  and  speak  often  one  to  another. 
Surely  the  Lord  stands  hearkening  nigh,  and  he 
will  write  their  words  in  his  book  of  remembrance. 
"And  they  shall  be  mine,  saith  the  Lord  of  hosts, 
in  that  day  when  I  make  up  my  jewels." 

Some  of  my  dear  brethren  in  the  ministry  vis- 
ited this  little  boy,  to  see  God's  wonderful  works 
in  him,  and  to  be  helpers  of  his  joy.  Mr.  Gum- 
ming visiting  him  one  day,  asked  if  he  suffered 
much  pain. 

JAMES.     Sometimes. 

MR.  C.  When  you  are  in  much  pain,  can  you 
think  on  the  sufferings  of  the  Lord  Jesus  ? 

JAMES.  When  I  see  what  Jesus  suffered  for 
me,  it  takes  away  my  pain.  Mine  is  nothing  to 
what  he  suffered. 

He  often  repeated  these  words,  "My  light 
affliction,  which  is  but  for  a  moment." 

At  another  time  Mr.  Miller  called  with  me, 
and  our  little  sufferer  spoke  very  sweetly  on 
eternal  things. 

MR.  M.     Would  you  like  to  get  better  ? 

JAMES.     I  would  like  the  will  of  God. 


14      ANOTHER  LILY  GATHERED. 

MR.  M.  But  if  you  were  getting  better,  would 
you  just  live  as  you  did  before  ? 

JAMES.    If  God  did  not  give  me  grace  I  would. 

I  never  met  with  any  boy  who  had  so  clear 
a  discovery  of  the  way  of  pardon  and  acceptance 
through  the  doing  and  dying  of  the  Lord  Jesus 
laid  to  our  account.  He  once  said  to  his  sister, 
"Margaret,  I  have  been  thinking  of  a  sweet 
verse  to-day :  '  The  Lord  is  well  pleased  for  his 
righteousness'  sake.'  Isa.  42:  21.  It's  no  for 
my  righteousness'  sake,  but  for  Christ's  right- 
eousness' sake." 

Mr.  Bonar  often  visited  him,  and  these  were 
sweet  visits  to  little  James.  One  day  when  Mr. 
Bonar  had  been  explaining  some  scripture  to  him, 
he  said.  "  Do  you  know  what  I  am  saying,  Jamie  ?" 

JAMES.  Yes,  but  I  canna  get  at  it,  (that  is, 
I  cannot  feel  its  power  ;)  I  see  it  all. 

MR.  B.  I  think  there  would  be  a  pleasure  in 
seeing  the  people  drink  when  Moses  struck  the 
rock,  even  though  one  did  not  get  a  drink  him- 
self. 

JAMES.     Ah,  but  I  would  like  a  drink. 

One  of  the.  loveliest  features  in  the  character 
of  this  little  boy  was  his  intense  love  to  the 
souls  of  men.  He  often  spoke  with  me  on  the 
folly  of  men  living  without  Christ  in  the  world. 


ANOTHER  LILT  GATHERED.  15 

I  shall  never  forget  the  compassionate  glance  of 
his  clear  blue  eye  as  he  said,  "  What  a  pity  it  is 
that  they  do  not  all  come  to  Christ ;  they  would 
be  sae  happy."  He  often  reminded  me  of  the 
verse,  "Love  is  of  God  ;  and  every  one  that  lov- 
eth  is  born  of  God."  1  John  4:7. 

One  Sabbath  evening  I  spoke  to  the  scholars 
in  the  Sabbath-school  about  him.  When  the 
school  was  over,  they  all  came  into  his  cottage 
to  see  him.  The  little  throng  stood  silent  around 
his  bed,  while  he  spoke  to  them  with  great  so- 
lemnity. "You  all  know  what  I  was  ;  but  the 
Holy  Spirit  opened  my  eyes,  and  I  saw  that  I 
was  on  the  very  brink  of  hell.  Then  I  cried  to 
Jesus  to  save  me,  and  give  me  a  new  heart ;  I 
put  my  finger  on  the  promise,  and  would  not 
come  away  without  it ;  and  he  gave  me  a  new 
heart ;  and  he  is  as  willing  to  give  you  all  a  new 
heart.  I  have  sinned  with  you ;  now  I  would 
like  you  to  come  to  Christ  with  me.  You  would 
be  far  happier  in  Christ  than  you  are  now. 
There  are  sweeter  pleasures  in  Christ.  Here 
are  two  awful  verses  to  me  : 

" '  There  is  a  dreadful  hell, 

And  everlasting  pains ; 
There  sinners  must  with  devils  dwell 
In  darkness,  fire,  and  chains. 


16      ANOTHER  LILY  GATHERED. 

" '  Can  such  a  wretch  as  I 

Escape  this  cursed  end? 
And  may  I  hope,  whene'er  I  die, 
I  shall  to  heaven  ascend?'  -*' 

Then  pointing  to  the  fire,  he  said,  "  You  could 
not  keep  your  finger  long  there  ;  but  remember, 
hell  is  a  '  lake  of  fire.'  I  will  give  you  all  a  prayer 
to  pray  to-night.  Go  and  tell  Jesus  that  you 
are  poor,  lost,  hell-deserving  sinners,  and  beg 
him  to  give  you  a  new  heart.  Mind,"  remem- 
ber, "he's  willing;  and  0,  be  earnest;  ye '11  no 
get  it  unless  ye  be  earnest." 

These  were  nearly  his  very  words.  His  com- 
panions were  impressed  for  a  time,  but  it  soon 
wore  away.  Several  Sabbath  evenings  the  same 
scene  was  renewed.  The  substance  of  all  his  « 
warnings  was,  "  Come  to  Christ  and  get  a  new 
heart."  He  often  told  me  afterwards  that  he 
had  been  inviting  them  to  Christ,  "but  they'll  no 
come" 

One  evening  during  the  week  a  number  of 
the  children  came  in.  After  speaking  to  them 
in  a  very  solemn  manner,  he  took  from  under 
his  pillow  a  little  book,  called,  "  A  Letter  about 
Jesus  Christ."  He  turned  to  the  part  where  it 
tells  of  six  boys  laying  their  finger  on  the  prom- 
ise, Ezek.  36  :  26,  and  pleading  for  its  fulfilment. 


ANOTHER  LILY  GATHERED.  17 

He  was  not  able  to  read  it  to  them,  but  he  said 
he  would  give  it  to  them  ;  and  each  boy  should 
keep  it  two  days,  and  read  it,  and  do  the  same. 
The  boys  were  much  impressed,  and  agreed  to 
the  proposal. 

One  day  during  his  illness  his  sister  found 
him  crying  very  bitterly.  She  asked  him  what 
ailed  him.  He  said,  "Do  you  remember  when  I 
was  at  the  day-school  at  the  time  of  the  revival  ? 
One  day  when  we  were  writing  our  copies,  one 
of  the  boys  had  been  anxious  about  his  soul. 
He  wrote  a  line  to  me  on  a  slip  of  paper,  '  Ezek. 
36  :  26.  To  James  Laing.  Pray  over  it.'  I 
took  the  paper,  read  it,  and  tore  it,  and  threw  it 
on  the  floor,  and  laughed  at  the  boy.  Oh,  Mar- 
garet, if  I  hadna  laughed  at  him,  maybe  he 
would  have  sought  Christ  until  he  had  found 
him.  Maybe  I  have  been  the  means  of  ruining 
his  soul  to  all  eternity."  In  how  touching  a 
manner  this  shows  the  tenderness  of  his  care 
for  the  souls  of  others  ;  and  also  how  a  rash 
word  or  deed,  little  thought  of  at  the  time,  may 
plant  a  sting  in  the  dying  pillow. 

One  night  I  went  with  my  little  cousin  to  see 
James.  I  said,  "I  have  brought  my  Jamie  to 
see  you."  He  took  him  kindly  by  the  hand, 
and  said,  "We're  twa  Jamies  thegither.  May 

SER.  iv.  132 


18     ANOTHER  LILY  GATHERED. 

we  both  meet  in  heaven.  Be  earnest  to  get 
Christ.  You'll  no  get  Christ  unless  you  are 
earnest."  When  we  were  gone,  he  said  to  his 
sister,  "Although  Jamie  bides  with  the  minis- 
ter, unless  the  Spirit  open  his  eyes,  he  canna 
get  Christ." 

His  knowledge  of  the  peculiar  doctrines  of  the 
gospel  was  very  wonderful.  It  was  not  mere 
head  knowledge  ;  it  came  fresh  and  clear  from 
the  heart,  like  spring  water  welling  up  from  a 
great  depth.  He  felt  the  sovereignly  of  God  very 
deeply.  Once  I  quoted  to  him  the  hymn, 

"  Chosen  not  for  good  in  me." 

He  said,  "I  am  sure  it  was  for  naething  in  me. 
I  am  a  hell-deserving  sinner."  Often,  when 
speaking  of  the  great  things  God  had  done  for 
their  family,  he  would  say,  "Ah,  Margaret,  I 
-wonder  that  Christ  would  look  in  here  and  take 
us."  Once  he  said,  "I  wonder  how  Jesus  died 
for  such  a  sinner  as  me.  Why  me,  Lord,  why 
me?" 

The  greatest  want  in  the  religion  of  children 
is  generally  a  sense  of  sin.  Artless  simplicity  and 
confidence  in  what  is  told,  are  in  some  respects 
natural  to  children  ;  and  this  is  the  reason  why 
we  are  so  often  deceived  by  promising  appear- 


ANOTHER  LILY  GATHERED.      19 

ances  in  childhood.  The  reality  of  grace  in  a 
child  is  best  known  by  his  sense  of  sin.  Little 
James  often  wondered  "how  God  sent  his  ser- 
vant sac  often  to  him,  such  a  hell-deserving  sin- 
ner." This  was  a  common  expression  of  his. 
On  one  occasion,  he  said,  "I  have  a  wicked, 
wicked  heart,  and  a  tempting  devil.  He'll  not 
let  me  alone ;  but  this  is  all  the  hell  that  I  '11 
get.  Jesus  bore  my  hell  already.  Oh  Marga- 
ret, this  wicked  heart  of  mine  would  be  hell 
enough  for  me  though  there  was  no  other.  But 
there  are  no  wicked  hearts  in  heaven."  Often 
he  prayed,  "Come,  Holy  Spirit,  and  make  me 
holy  ;  make  me  like  Jesus." 

The  way  of  salvation  through  the.  righteousness 
of  Christ  was  always  sweet  to  him.  He  had  an 
uncommon  grasp  of  it ;  Christ  crucified  was  all 
his  salvation,  and  all  his  desire.  One  day  his 
sister  said  to  him,  "You  must  meet  death  in 
Jesus,  and  go  to  the  judgment-seat  in  Jesus,  and 
spend  eternity  in  Jesus.  You  will  be  as  hell- 
deserving  in  yourself  when  you  stand  before  the 
throne  as  now."  He  smiled  sweetly,  and  said, 
"  Oh,  Margaret,  I  see  it  must  be  all  Jesus  from 
beginning  to  end." 

Another  time  a  little  boy  who  was  in  concern 
for  his  soul  came  to  see  James,  and  told  him 


20  ANOTHER  LILY  GATHERED. 

how  many  chapters  he  had  read,  and  how  often 
lie  had  prayed.  James  did  not  answer  at  the 
time,  but  a  little  after  he  said  to  his  sister,  "Da- 
vid \vas  here,  and  told  me  how  many  chapters 
he  had  read,  etc.  I  see  he 's  upon  the  working 
plan ;  but  I  must  tell  him  that  it's  no  his  read- 
ing, nor  yet  his  praying,  but  Jesus  alone  that 
must  save  him." 

Another  day  he  said,  "The  devil  is  letting 
me  see  that  this  word  and  another  word  in  my 
prayer  is  sin  ;  but  I  just  tell  him  it  is  all  sin.  I 
bid  him  go  to  Jesus ;  there  is  no  sin  in  him ; 
and  I  have  taken  him  to  be  my  Saviour." 

He  had  a  very  clear  discovery  of  the  dead  and 
helpless  condition  of  the  carnal  mind,  and  of  the 
need  of  the  Holy  Spirit  to  convert  the  soul.  Tell- 
ing me  once  of  the  boy  under  concern,  and  of 
what  he  had  been  saying  to  him,  he  added,  "But 
it  is  all  in  vain  to  speak  of  these  things  without 
the  Holy  Spirit."  Often  when  he  saw  the  family 
preparing  to  go  to  church,  he  would  pray  that  I 
might  be  filled  with  the  Holy  Spirit  in  speaking, 
so  that  some  sinners  might  be  converted.  "I 
mind,"  remember,  "often  sitting  on  the  pulpit 
stairs  careless ;  I  would  like  if  I  had  that  place 
again.  If  I  might  hear  but  one  sermon,  I  would 
not  be  so  careless  now."  He  often  wished  to 


I 

ANOTHER.  LILY  GATHERED.  21 

be  carried  to  the  church,  but  was  never  able  to 
bear  the  exertion. 

He  was  no  stranger  to  temptations  from  the 
wicked  one.  I  scarcely  ever  visited  him  but  he 
spoke  to  me  of  these.  Once  he  said,  "  The  devil 
often  tempts  me  to  think  upon  good  people,  but 
I  tell  him  it  is  Christ  I  want."  Another  time, 
"What  do  you  think?  The  devil  now  tempts 
me  to  believe  that  I'll  never  be  saved,  because 
I  repented  on  my  death-bed."  Often  when 
tempted  he  would  cry,  "If  I  perish,  I'll  perish 
at  Christ's  feet."  The  last  text  I  explained  to 
him  was,  "I  have  fought  a  good  fight,  I  have 
finished  my  course,  I  have  kept  the  faith,"  2 
Tim.  4  :  7  ;  showing  him  that,  from  conversion 
to  coronation,  the  life  of  a  believer  was  one  con- 
tinued fight.  He  said,  "Would  you  not  think 
that  the  devil  would  let  a  poor  young  creature 
like  me  alone  ?  but  he 's  an  awful  tempter." 

He  had  a  mind  that  loved  to  think  on  the 
"deep  things  of  God."  One  day  a  believer  call- 
ed and  prayed  beside  his  bed,  asking  for  him 
that  he  might  be  "filled  with  all  the  fulness  of 
God."  The  same  person  came  another  day,  and 
before  praying  inquired,  "What  shall  I  ask  for 
you?"  He  said,  "You  mind  what  you  sought 
for  me  the  last  time.  You  prayed  that  I  might  be 


22      ANOTHER  LILY  GATHERED. 

filled  with  all  the  fulness  of  God  ;  I  canna  get  any 
more  than  that,  but  dinna  seek  any  less  to-day." 

A  dear  Christian  lady  used  to  bring  him  flow- 
ers. She  spoke  to  him  of  Christ  being  "the  lily 
of  the  valley,"  and  on  one  occasion  brought  him 
one.  He  asked  her  to  pick  it  out  from  the  rest, 
and  give  it  into  his  hand.  Holding  the  gentle 
flower  in  his  pale  wasted  fingers,  he  looked  at 
it,  and  said,  "This  might  convince  the  world 
that  there  is  a  God,  though  there  were  nothing 
else.  Aye,  there  is  a  God,  there  is  a  heaven, 
there  is  a  hell,  and  there  is  a  judgment-seat, 
whether  they  will  believe  it  or  no."  He  said 
this  in  a  very  solemn  way,  pausing  after  every 
member  of  the  sentence. 

He  loved  singing  praise  to  God,  though  not 
able  to  join  in  it  himself.  He  frequently  made 
us  sing  beside  his  bed,  and  often  bade  them  sing 
the  twenty-third  Psalm.  "I  have  no  strength 
to  sing  here,"  he  would  say;  "I  have  a  heart, 
but  not  strength  ;  when  I  get  to  heaven,  I'll  be 
able  to  sing  there."  Sometimes  he  would  bid 
them  sing  these  words :  "  I  'm  not  ashamed  to 
own  my  Lord."  He  often  repeated  that  hymn, 
and  he  left  it  in  charge  that  it  should  be  sung  by 
the  scholars  on  the  night  of  his  death. 

My  sister  once  sent  him  a  hymn,  "  The  fulness 


ANOTHER  LILY  GATHERED.  23 

of  Jesus."     He  said  he  liked  it  all,  but  he  liked 
the  last  verse  best : 

"  I  long  to  be  with  Jesus, 

Amid  the  heavenly  throng, 

To  sing  with  saints  his  praises, 

To  learn  the  angels'  song." 

He  delighted  in  secret  prayer.  In  weakness 
and  pain,  he  spent  hours  upon  his  knees  com- 
muning with  an  unseen  God.  When  too  weak 
for  the  outward  part  of  the  exercise,  he  said, 
"Oh,  Margaret,  I  prayed  to  Jesus  as  long  as  I 
was  able.  But  now  Pm  not  able,  and  he  does 
not  want  it  from  me;  but  Pm  just  always  giv- 
ing him  my  heart"  Many  a  night  he  got  no 
sleep.  I  asked  him  if  he  wearied  during  the  silent 
watches.  He  said,  "  No  ;  his  left  hand  is  under 
my  head,  and  his  right  hand  doth  embrace  me." 

God  gave  this  dear  boy  a  very  calm  and  cheerful 
spirit  in  the  midst  of  all  his  trials.  Neither  bod- 
ily pain  nor  the  assaults  of  the  devil  could  sour 
his  temper  or  ruffle  his  placid  brow.  At  any 
time  when  his  pain  increased,  he  would  say, 
"  It  is  the  Lord  ;  let  him  do  what  seemeth  him 
good."  One  time  in  deep  darkness,  he  cried  out, 
"Though  he  slay  me,  yet  will  I  trust  in  him." 
Again,  when  his  soul  was  more  in  the  light,  he 
would  say,  "'I  long  to  depart,  and  to  be  with 


24  ANOTHER  LILY  OATHERED. 

Christ,  which  is  far  better;'  but  then  Pin  will- 
ing to  wait  the  Lord's  time ;  good  is  the  will  of 
the  Lord."  Again  he  would  say,  "  I  long  to  be 
with  Jesus.  I  long  to  see  Jesus,  that  died  for 
me.  If  I  am  spared -to  go  out  again,  I  must  just 
go  leaning  upon  these  words,  'My  grace  is  suffi- 
cient for  thee.'  They  will  be  sure  to  mock  me, 
but  they  mocked  Jesus  before."  Once  he  said 
to  me,  "I  have  often  wondered  when  I  have 
heard  you  say  that  Christ  was  sweet ;  but  now 
I  feel  him  to  be  sweet,  sweet" 

On  the  last  day  of  1841,  he  said  to  his  sister, 
"I  will  tell  you  what  I  would  like  for  my  New- 
yeur's  gift :  I  would  like  a  praying  heart,  and  a 
heart  to  love  Christ  more."  Next  day  a  woman 
came  in,  and  said,  "Poor  Jamie,  you'll  get  no 
fun  this  New-year's-day."  James  said,  "Poor 
body,  she  thinks  like  as  I  care  for  the  New-year. 
I  have  far  better  than  you  have,  though  you  had 
the  whole  world.  This  is  the  happiest  New- 
year's-day  that  ever  I  had,  for  I  have  Christ." 
She  was  very  deaf,  and  did  not  hear  what  he 
said  ;  but  he  often  pitied  that  woman,  and  pray- 
ed for  her.  At  another  time  his  father  said, 
"Poor  Jamie."  He  replied,  "Ah,  father,  don't 
call  me  poor,  I  am  rich  ;  they  that  have  Christ 
have  all  things."  A  little  after  the  New-year,  he 


ANOTHER  LILY  GATHERED.      25 

said,  "  Margaret,  I  am  not  to  die  yet,  for  I  have 
mair  to  suffer  ;  but  I  am  willing,  though  it  should 
be  for  years."  On  one  occasion  when  he  was 
suffering  much  pain,  he  said,  "Five  minutes  in 
glory  will  make  up  for  all  this  suffering."  When 
Margaret  had  to  go  out  with  her  father's  dinner, 
she  used  to  lock  the  door,  leaving  James  alone 
within.  On  returning,  she  asked,  "Were  you 
wearying,  Jamie?"  His  reply  was,  "Oh  no; 
Jesus  takes  care  of  me  when  you  are  out." 
One  of  his  country  friends  came  in  one  day  to 
see  him,  and  said,  "I  am  sure  you  have  a  weary 
time  of  it,  Jamie."  He  said,  "Oh  no,  I  never 
weary  ;  Christ  keeps  me  from  wearying." 

After  a  very  happy  communion-season  in 
April,  I  went  to  visit  him,  and  he  spoke  in  a 
most  touching  manner:  "I  was  not  sorry  on 
Sabbath  that  all  the  people  were  sitting  at  the 
Lord's  table,  and  I  lying  here,  for  I  thought  I 
would  soon  be  at  the  table  above  with  Christ, 
and  then  I  would  be  far  happier." 

In  a  season  of  great  darkness,  he  called  for 
his  Dew-Drops,  and  sought  out  the  verse,  "The 
Lord  is  a  strong-hold  in  the  day  of  trouble,  and 
he  knoweth  them  that  trust  in  him."  He  said, 
"Margaret,  I'll  trust  in  him,  though  I  cannot  see 
him.  I  will  lie  down  upon  that  verse."  When 


26  ANOTHER  LILY  GATHERED. 

his  bed  was  made  at  night,  he  would  take  anoth- 
er verse  "to  lie  down  upon,"  as  he  called  it ;  so 
he  was  fed  by  the  dew  and  the  word. 

A  young  woman  who  lived  in  the  same  lane 
was  awakened  to  deep  concern  the  same  winter 
that  James  was  brought  to  Christ.  Before  her 
concern  she  never  came  in  to  see  James,  though 
her  mother  often  advised  her  to  do  so.  But 
when  she  was  brought  to  feel  her  sin  and  mis- 
ery, she  came  in  every  Sabbath  night,  and  was 
always  tenderly  kind  to*  James.  "  How  are  you 
to-night,  Jamie ?"  she  would  say  ;  "you  are  well 
off  when  you  can  say,  I  have  found  Christ." 
Early  in  spring  this  young  woman  evidently 
found  the  true  rest  for  her  weary  soul  in  Jesus. 
She  became  a  candidate  for  the  Lord's  table,  and 
was  to  have  been  admitted,  but  God  called  her 
away  to  sit  at  the  table  that  can  never  be  with- 
drawn. She  died  full  of  joy,  with  the  praises  of 
God  upon  her  lips.  Margaret  had  been  present 
at  this  interesting  death-bed,  and  when  she  re- 
turned home  she  told  James.  He  answered  with 
great  composure,  "  I  wish  I  had  been  away  with 
her ;  but  I  must  wait  the  Lord's  time.  Betsy  is 
singing  now,  and  I  will  soon  be  there  too." 

James  used  to  take  the  bitterest  medicines 
without  any  reluctance.  He  folded  his  hands, 


ANOTHER  LILY  GATHERED.  27 

shut  his  eyes,  and  asked  God  to  bless  it  to  him. 
"Ah,  Margaret,  if  God  do  not  bless  it  to  me,  it 
will  do  me  no  good."  Often  she  asked,  "Is  it 
not  bitter?"  He  would  say,  "Yes,  but  Jesus 
had  a  bitterer  cup  to  drink  for  me." 

In  the  summer  of  1841,  another  remarkable 
boy,  named  James  Wallace,  had  died  in  the 
Lord.  He  was  one  whom  God  had  taught  in  a 
wonderful  manner.  He  had  a  singular  gift  of 
prayer,  and  was  made  useful  to  many,  both  old 
and  young.  James  Laing  had  known  him  well 
in  former  days.  In  1839,  a  younger  brother  of 
James  Laing,  named  Patrick,  had  died  also,  not 
without  pleasing  marks  of  having  undergone  a 
divine  change.  It  is  needful  to  know  these 
things,  to  understand  the  following  dream  of  our 
little  pilgrim. 

A  short  time  after  he  believed,  he  said,  "  Mar- 
garet, I  will  tell  you  my  dream."  Margaret  was 
afraid  of  some  fancy  leading  him  astray,  and 
asked  what  it  was. 

JAMES.  I  thought  there  was  a  ladder,  the 
foot  of  it  on  earth,  and  the  top  of  it  reaching  to 
heaven.  I  thought  it  was  heaven  I  saw.  There 
was  a  great  multitude  of  people,  but  I  knew 
none  of  them  but  Patrick  and  Jamie  Wallace. 
When  I  was  standing  on  the  first  or  second 


28     ANOTHER  LILY  GATHERED. 

step  of  the  ladder,  Jamie  Wallace  looked  down 
and  said,  "Aye,  here's  another  one  coming  step- 
ping up."  He  explained  it  by  referring  to  Ja- 
cob's ladder,  and  that  Jesus  is  the  ladder.  Mar- 
garet said,  "  Aye,  and  you  are  just  on  the  first 
step." 

In  the  latter  part  of  his  illness  he  was  used 
as  an  instrument  in  awakening  another  boy, 
whose  impressions  I  earnestly  hope  may  never 

wear  away.    David  G had  been  a  very  wild 

boy  ;  so  much  so,  that  he  was  expelled  from  the 
Sabbath-school.  He  found  his  way  into  James' 
cottage,  and  there  saw  exemplified  the  truths  he 
would  not  listen  to  in  school.  From  that  day 
till  James  died,  David  regularly  visited  him, 
and  learned  from  him  with  deepest  interest  the 
things  that  belonged  to  his  peace.  James  often 
prayed  with  him  alone.  Sometimes  both  prayed 
at  the  same  time  for  a  new  heart.  Margaret 
was  always  made  to  withdraw  at  these  times. 
He  pleaded  with  this  boy  to  seek  Jesus  when 
young,  "for  it's  easier  to  find  Jesus  when  we 
are  young.  Look  at  Annie,"  a  grown-up  per- 
son, who  had  been  long  under  concern,  "she 
has  been  long  in  seeking  Christ,  and  she  is  long 
in  finding.  Mind  what  I  tell  you,  for  I  will 
soon  be  in  heaven." 


ANOTHER  LILY  GATHERED.      29 

DAVID.     Will  you  get  to  heaven  ? 

JAMES.  Oh  yes  ;  all  that  believe  in  Christ  get 
to  heaven,  and  I  believe  that  Jesus  died  for  me. 
Now,  David,  if  I  see  you  on  the  left  hand,  you 
will  mind  that  I  often  bade  you  come  to  Christ. 

DAVID.  I'll  have  naebody  to  pray  with  me, 
and  tell  rne  about  my  soul,  when  you  are  dead. 

JAMES.  I  have  bidden  Margaret  pray  for  you, 
and  I  have  told  the  minister ;  and  go  you  to  our 
kirk,  and  he  will  tell  you  the  way  to  come  to 
Christ. 

Three  times  a  day  did  this  anxious  inquirer 
seek  the  prayers  and  counsels  of  his  youthful 
instructor,  till  James'  strength  gave  way,  and  he 
could  talk  no  more.  The  day  before  he  died, 
the  boy  came  in  ;  James  could  hardly  speak,  but 
he  looked  steadily  at  him,  and  said,  "Seek  on, 
David." 

The  last  visit  I  paid  to  this  young  Christian 
was  on  the  Tuesday  before  lie  died,  in  company 
with  Mr.  Miller  and  Mr.  Smith,  one  of  our  Jew- 
ish missionaries,  who  was  that  same  day  to  sail 
from  his  native  land.  After  speaking  a  little 
we  prayed,  and  I  asked  him  what  I  should  pray 
for.  James  said,  "Dying  grace."  He  shook 
hands  with  us  all.  When  the  missionary  held 
his  hand,  he  said,  "God's  people  have  much 


30  ANOTHER  LILY  GATHERED. 

need  to  pray  for  you  and  for  them  there." 
When  we  had  gone  out,  he  said,  "Maybe  I'll 
never  see  the  minister  again." 

On  Thursday  he  said,  "Ah,  Margaret,  mind 
it's  no  easy  to  die.  You  know  nothing  about 
it.  Even  though  you  have  Christ,  it  is  dark." 

The  same  day  he  bade  her  give  David  G 

his  Sunday  trowsers  and  new  boots,  that  he 
might  go  to  the  church.  He  gave  his  father 
The  Dying  Thief,  and  said,  "I  am  going  to  give 
Alick  my  Bible,"  meaning  Dew-drops.  There 
was  a  piece  of  money  under  his  pillow.  He  said 
it  was  to  buy  Bibles  for  them  that  never  heard 
of  Jesus. 

His  aunt  came  in  on  Friday  morning.  He 
said,  "  Oh,  aunt,  do  n't  put  off  seeking  Christ  to 
a  death-bed ;  for  if  I  had  Christ  to  seek  to-day, 
what  would  have  become  of  me  ?  but  I  have 
given  my  heart  to  Christ."  Margaret  asked  him, 
"What  shall  I  do?  I  shall  miss  your  company 
in  the  house."  James  answered,  "You  must 
just  go  the  more  to  Jesus.  Do  not  be  ill  about 
me  now,  when  I  am  dead,  Margaret.  If  I 
thought  that,  I  would  be  sorry ;  and  more  than 
that,  God  would  be  angry  at  you  ;  for  I  shall  be 
far  happier.  It  is  better  to  depart  and  be  with 
Christ.  Ask  grace  to  keep  you  from  it." 


ANOTHER  LILY  G-ATHERED.  31 

All  that  day  he  spoke  very  little.  In  the  even- 
ing he  grew  much  worse.  His  sister  wished 
to  sit  up  with  him  that  night,  but  he  would  not 
allow  her.  She  said,  "These  eyes  will  soon 
see  Him  whom  your  soul  loves."  James  said, 
"Aye."  After  midnight,  Margaret,  seeing  him 
worse,  arose  and  woke  her  father.  She  tried  to 
conceal  her  tears  ;  but  James  saw  them,  and 
said,  with  a  look  of  solemn  earnestness,  "0 
woman,  I  wonder  to  see  you  do  the  like  of 
that."  He  spoke  little  after  this,  and  about  one 
o'clock  on  Saturday  morning,  June  11,  1842,  fell 
asleep  in  Jesus. 

From  this  affecting  history,  all  children  should 
learn  an  impressive  lesson.  What  is  said  of 
Abel  is  true  of  this  dear  boy :  "  He  being  dead, 
yet  speaketh."  Now  that  he  has  gone  to  the 
world  of  praise  and  holiness  and  love,  the  his- 
tory of  his  dying  hours  is  a  warning  and  an  in- 
vitation to  each  of  you.  You  see  here  that  you 
are  not  too  young  to  have  the  Holy  Spirit  striv- 
ing with  you.  You  are  riot  too  young  to  resist 
the  Holy  Ghost.  You  are  not  too  young  to  be 
converted  and  brought  to  Christ.  If  you  die 
without  Christ  you  will  surely  perish.  Many 
of  you  are  wicked,  idle,  profane,  prayerless,  un- 
godly children.  Some  of  you  are  open  Sabbath- 


33  ANOTHER  LILY  G-ATHERED. 

breakers,  liars,  and  swearers.  If  you  die  thus, 
you  will  have  your  portion  in  the  lake  that  burn- 
eth  with  fire  and  brimstone.  You  will  see  this 
little  boy,  and  others  whom  you  know,  in  the 
kingdom  of  God,  and  you  yourselves  thrust  out. 
0  repent  and  be  converted,  that  your  sins  may 
be  blotted  out.  You  may  die  very  soon.  0 
that  your  latter  end  may  be  like  his ! 

How  evident  is  it,  that  God  is  willing  and  able 
to  convert  the  young.  How  plain  that  if  God 
give  grace,  they  can  understand  and  relish 
divine  things  as  fully  as  those  of  mature  age. 
"I  thank  thee,  0  Father,  Lord  of  heaven  and 
earth,  because  thou  hast  hid  these  things  from 
the  wise  and  prudent,  and  hast  revealed  them 
unto  babes.  Even  so,  Father,  for  so  it  seemed 
good  in  thy  sight."  Let  us  seek  the  present~CQn- 
version  to  Christ  of  our  little  children.  Jesus 
has  reason  to  complain  of  us  that  he  can  do  no 
mighty  works  in  our  Sabbath-schools  because  of 
our  unbelief. 

"Now  unto  the  King  eternal,  immortal,  invis- 
ible, the  only  wise  God,  be  honor  and  glory  for 
ever  and  ever.  Amen." 


ANNIE  AND  ROSABELLE; 


OK, 


THE  TRUE  RICHES. 


PUBLISHED  BY  THE 

AMERICAN   TRACT  SOCIETY. 

150  NASSAU-STREET,  NEW  YORK. 
133 


ANNIE  AND  ROSABELLE; 

OR, 

THE    TRUE    RICHES. 


CHAPTER  I. 

IT  was  the  first  day  of  my  school  in  Chestnut 
Grove.  One  by  one  the  scholars  had  come  in 
and  taken  their  scats,  and  now  all  was  quiet. 


4  ANNIE  AND  ROSABELLE. 

Most  of  the  faces  which  were  turned  towards 
me  were  bright  with  intelligence ;  but  there 
was  one  which  peculiarly  interested  me,  that  of 
a  girl  of  ten  summers,  but  small  for  her  age, 
who  sat  by  herself,  with  her  hands  folded  meek- 
ly in  her  lap.  There  was  a  touching  look  of  sad- 
ness around  the  mouth,  and  the  eyelids  drooped 
timidly  over  the  soft  brown  eyes.  In  the  next 
seat  sat  Rosabelle  Lee,  a  perfect  contrast  to 
Annie  Grey.  Rosabelle  was  the  petted  child  of 
wealthy  parents,  and  I  thought  if  she  was  as 
good  as  she  was  fair,  I  should  love  her  dearly. 
At  the  close  of  the  school,  she  stood  at  my  side. 

"Will  you  go  home  with  me  to-night,  Miss 
Hale?"  said  she  pleasantly.  "Mamma  said  I 
might  ask  you." 

"  Yes,  thank  you,"  replied  I ;  and  we  went 
out  together.  I  could  not  see  any  thing  of  little 
Annie,  and  turning  to  Rosabelle,  I  asked,  "Who 
is  Annie  Grey  ;  and  where  does  she  live  ?" 

"0  she  lives  about  a  mile  from  here,  and 
generally  goes  home  across  lots.  There  she  is 
now,  half  way  over  the  meadow.  Her  folks  are 
dreadful  poor ;  her  father  is  a  cripple,  and  her 
mother  takes  in  washing." 

The  last  words  she  said  with  a  peculiar  em- 
phasis and  a  scornful  toss  of  the  head,  of  which 


ANNIE  AND  ROSABELLE.  5 

I  took  no  notice.  Soon  after,  she  requested  me 
to  change  her  seat  in  school,  evidently  in  order 
to  avoid  poor  Annie.  I  was  pained  to  discover 
such  a  disposition  in  one  so  beautiful  and  so 
young,  but  consented  to  the  change,  for  which 
she  thanked  me  gracefully.  It  was  not  long 
before  the  little  girl  pointed  out  her  home,  a 
large  white  house  half  hid  by  the  thick  foliage  of 
ancient  elms  and  maples,  and  the  front  yard  full 
of  choice  shrubs  and  flowers. 

"It  is  very  beautiful,"  I  said;  and  I  fancied 
that  the  smile  on  my  companion's  face  had  more 
of  vanity  than  real  heartfelt  pleasure  in  it,  as 
she  replied,  "Papa  has  spared  neither  pains  nor 
expense  to  make  it  so." 

As  we  went  slowly  up  the  broad  gravel  walk, 
Rosabelle  stopped  every  now  and  then  to  explain 
how  some  flower  had  been  brought  from  the 
east,  or  some  choice  shrub  from  the  far  south,  to 
add  to  the  beauty  of  the  garden  ;  and  when  we 
entered  the  parlor,  she  introduced  me  to  her 
mother  with  an  ease  and  grace  which  I  had  sel- 
dom seen  in  one  so  young.  Mrs.  Lee  made  me 
welcome,  and  in  a  little  while  I  felt  quite  at 
home  in  her  society. 

After  tea  Rosabelle  showed  me  her  pets.  She 
had  birds  in  richly  gilt  cages,  snow  white  rab- 


6  ANNIE  AND  ROSABELLE. 

bits  running  about  like  tame  kittens,  and  a  beau- 
tiful little  spaniel,  which  was  a  very  knowing 
dog.  Then  there  was  her  play-room,  furnished 
with  all  that  a  little  girl  could  wish,  and  I  said, 
as  I  looked  around,  "You  have  every  thing  to 
make  you  happy,  Rosabelle." 

"But  she  is  not  always  happy.  Indeed,  she 
has  the  blues  very  often,"  said  Mrs.  Lee. 

"Ah,"  said  I,  "what  can  she  find  to  have  the 
blues  about  ?" 

"  That  is  what  puzzles  me,"  replied  the  moth- 
er. "I  hope  you  will  be  able  to  find  out  and 
correct  the  fault,  for  I  would  have  my  little  girl 
always  cheerful  and  happy." 

After  a  pleasant  hour,  which  we  enjoyed  to- 
gether in  rambling  over  the  beautiful  garden, 
the  sun  went  down,  the  dew  began  to  fall,  and 
we  were  obliged  to  return  to  the  house  just  as 
the  pale  primroses  were  sending  forth  their  even- 
ing offering  of  delicious  perfume. 

I  sat  for  a  long  time  in  the  little  room  which 
Mrs.  Lee  assigned  me  for-  the  night ;  and  though 
every  thing  had  passed  so  pleasantly,  I  felt  sad 
at  the  thought  that  this  house  of  wealth  and 
splendor  was  not  a  house  of  prayer,  and  that 
those  who  dwelt  in  it  were  not  in  possession  of 
the  "true  riches." 


ANNIE  AND  ROSABELLE. 


CHAPTER   II. 

EARLY  in  the  morning  I  was  awakened  by  the 
glad  song  of  a  wood-robin,  which  had  lit  in  the 
tree  under  my  window,  and  seemed  to  say, 
"Arise,  arise,  and  praise  the  Lord  for  his  good- 
ness." 

At  the  breakfast-table  I  looked  around  in  vain 
for  Rosabelle,  and  it  was  not  till  the  meal  was 
half  finished  that  she  made  her  appearance,  with 
a  slow,  moping  movement ;  and  I  knew  from  her 
flushed  cheeks  and  swollen  eyes  that  she  had 
been  crying.  I  could  scarcely  believe  that  it 
was  the  same  child  that  I  had  admired  so  much 
the  day  before. 

I  was  in  hopes  Rosabelle  would  get  over  her 
ill-humor  before  school-time  ;  but  she  did  not, 
and  things  went  'wrong  all  day. 

After  school,  I  asked  Rosabelle  to  stay  with 
me  a  while  ;  and  when  the  other  children  were 
gone,  I  said  to  her  kindly,  "You  have  been  very 
unhappy  to-day.  Can  you  tell  me  the  reason  ?" 

"I  don't  know,  I'm  sure,"  reolied  the  child, 
sullenly. 

"Shall  I  tell  you?     You  have  made  yourself 


8  ANNIE  AND  ROSABELLE. 

unhappy.  You  gave  way  to  a  wrong  temper 
this  morning,  and  it  has  made  you  wretched  all 
day." 

The  child's  face  grew  very  red,  and  she  made 
me  no  answer,  so  I  went  on.  "Now  is  the 
time  to  correct  this  fault ;  for  a  hasty  temper,  if 
not  early  brought  under  subjection,  always  grows 
with  one's  growth." 

She  made  a  movement  as  if  to  rise,  but  I 
gently  detained  her.  ''Sit  still,  Rosabella  I 
am  your  friend,  and  it  is  because  I  love  you 
that  I  have  sought  this  interview.  I  would 
have  you  a  good  and  happy  little  girl — gentle, 
meek,  and  lowly  in  heart,  loving  and  beloved  by 
all.  In  short,  I  would  have  you  a  Christian." 

"Me,  Miss  Hale  !  Would  you  have  me  turn 
into  an  old  woman  ?" 

"  No,  Rosabelle  ;  I  would  have  you  just  what 
your  Creator  designed  you  to  be — a  glad-hearted 
little  girl,  making  sunshine  for  yourself  and  those 
with  whom  you  associate.  True  piety,  my  dear 
child,  never  makes  one  less  happy  ;  on  the  con- 
trary, it  fits  its  possessors  to  appreciate  more 
fully  all  that  is  good  and  beautiful,  and  to  enjoy 
with  a  higher  relish  the  innocent  pleasures  of 
life." 

"I  thought  religion  always  made  folks  dull 


ANNIE  AND  ROSABELLE.  9 

and  sober.  There 's  Annie  Grey  ;  they  say  she 
is  pious  ;  and  if  she  is,  deliver  me  from  piety." 

"Why,  what  has  Annie  done  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  do  n't  know,  but  I  hate  her.  She  is  a  no- 
bod}^  and  always  will  be.  Mamma  would  be  very 
angry,  if  I  should  think  of  associating  with  her." 

''But,  Rosabelle,  suppose  you  should  go  out 
into  your  garden  some  fine  morning,  and  find 
the  most  lovely  girl  you  ever  beheld,  dressed  in 
spotless  white,  with  a  crown  of  diamonds,  and  a 
golden  harp  on  which  she  could  play  the  most 
entrancing  strains  ;  what  would  you  do  ?" 

"  Invite  her  into  the  house,  and  try  to  make 
her  my  friend.  But  what  has  this  to  do  with 
Annie  Grey?" 

"This  much,  my  dear  child  ;  that  if  Annie  is 
a  true  Christian,  she  will  soon  be,  notwithstand- 
ing her  poverty,  fully  equal  to  the  girl  I  have 
described  to  you." 

"How?"  exclaimed  Rosabelle,  wonderingly. 
She  evidently  did  not  comprehend  me. 

"You  know  that  all  who  love  Christ  go  to 
heaven  when  they  die." 

"Yes,  ma'am  ;  so  the  Bible  says." 

"Well,  if  Annie's  heart  is  right,  and  she  were 
to  die,  she  would  go  right  to  heaven.  There 
she  will  be  clothed  in  white  robes,  and  a  crown 


10  ANNIE  AND  ROSABELLE. 

of  light  and  a  harp  of  gold  will  be  given  her. 
She  will  be  like  a  glorious  angel,  Rosabelle. 
The  same  soul  that  now  looks  at  you  through 
her  soft  brown  eyes,  will  by  and  by  dwell  in  a 
glorious  body  in  the  paradise  of  God." 

"  Oh,  I  never  thought  of  that  before  ;  I  never 
thought  of  Annie's  becoming  like  an  angel.  I 
shall  love  her  more  than  I  have  done,  and  will 
treat  her  better  in  future." 

"  Thank  you  for  that  promise,  Rosabelle  ;  and 
will  3rou  not  try  also  to  subdue  your  hasty  tem- 
per ?  Will  you  not  study  your  Bible,  and  pray 
earnestly  to  the  Lord  to  forgive  your  sins,  and 
give  you  a  new  heart  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  cannot,  indeed  I  cannot,  Miss  Hale  ;  I 
have  been  so  used  to  having  my  own  way  in 
every  thing." 

"I  know  it  will  be  very  hard  for  you;  but 
the  longer  you  wait,  the  harder  it  will  be.  Xo\v 
is  the  best  time  to  begin.  Oh,  Rosabelle,  if  you 
only  would  repent  of  your  sins,  and  give  your 
heart  to  the  Saviour,  what  a  joy,  what  a  bless- 
ing it  would  be ;"  and  as  I  laid  iny  hand  on  her 
golden  curls,  and  imprinted  a  parting  kiss  upon 
her  cheek,  I  earnestly  besought  the  Lord  to  re- 
new and  purify  her  young  heart,  and  make  her 
a  true  child  of  God. 


ANNIE  AND  ROSABELLE.  11 


CHAPTER   III. 

As  the  days  went  by,  I  saw  with  gratitude  a 
marked  improvement  in  Rosabelle.  She  was 
more  gentle  among  her  playmates,  more  kind 
and  considerate  when  their  wishes  clashed  with 
her  own,  and  seemed  to  be  trying  to  do  right. 
She  was  very  kind  too  to  Annie  Grey,  though 
she  avoided  her  society  as  much  as  possible. 
She  had  been  taught  to  think  of  Annie  as  an 
inferior,  and  that  it  was  a  disgrace  to  associate 
with  her;  arid  this  rooted  prejudice  was  not  to 
be  overcome  in  a  few  days  or  weeks. 

My  school  had  been  in  session  several  weeks, 
and  I  had  not  yet  seen  Annie's  parents  ;  so  one 
night  I  said,  "  Wait  a  moment,  Annie,  and  I  will 
go  home  with  you."  A  few  minutes  afterwards 
we  were  in  the  meadow  among  the  fragrant 
clover  blossoms.  A  delightful  walk  of  ten  min- 
utes, one  more  fence  to  climb,  and  then  we 
entered  a  bit  of  beautiful  shady  woods.  The 
sun  was  low,  and  his  mellow  golden  light  glim- 
mered through  the  trees ;  while  the  evening 
breeze,  which  rose  and  fell  fitfully,  came  to  us 
laden  with  bird  melody  and  the  perfume  of  wild 


J2  ANNIE  AND  ROSABELLE. 

flowers.  I  paused  upon  the  brow  of  a  little  hill 
to  enjoy  more  fully  the  beautiful  scene,  and  to 
adore  the  Creator  in  ray  heart ;  and  as  I  gazed 
and  listened,  Annie  said  with  emotion,  "Do  you 
wonder  that  I  love  to  come  this  way  ?" 

"No,  indeed ;  it  is  a  beautiful  spot." 

"Yes,  more  than  beautiful,  Miss  Hale.  The 
sunset,  the  trees,  the  birds  and  flowers  are  beau- 
tiful when  taken  separately  ;  but  how  much  more 
so  when  they  are  all  together  in  such  harmony." 

Slowly  we  went  along  the  narrow  pathway 
that  led  down  the  hill,  and  in  a  little  while  came 
to  the  open  pasture  land,  and  Annie  pointed  out 
to  me  her  home.  It  was  a  low  unpaiuted  build- 
ing, with  square  windows  and  doors  painted 
red,  and  stood  alone  in  a  little  meadow.  Still 
there  was  an  air  of  quiet  and  homely  comfort 
about  the  little  domicile  that  pleased  me  much. 
Creeping  vines  and  roses  were  trained  over  the 
windows  and  around  the  doors,  and  flower-beds 
were  tastefully  arranged  in  the  front  yard.  "  You 
have  a  very  pleasant  place  here,"  I  said. 

"Yes,  we  try  to  make  it  so,"  she  replied, 
"though  we  haven't  any  thing  nice  but  our 
flowers.  We  are  poor ;  but  this,  you  know, 
cannot  hinder  us  from  being  happy,  if  we  live 
right." 


ANNIE  AND  RQSABELLE.  13 

"  Very  true,  Annie  ;  there  is  no  happiness  like 
that  which  springs  from  the  favor  of  God.  The 
riches  of  this  world  are  good  in  their  place  ;  but 
they  are  nothing  when  compared  with  the  riches 
of  the  true  Christian,  the  pearl  of  great  price." 

Little  Annie's  looks  showed  that  she  felt  this 
to  be  true,  and  that  her  treasure  was  laid  up  in 
heaven ;  but  she  did  not  speak  again  until  we 
entered  the  house.  Then  she  introduced  me  to 
her  parents,  and  setting  me  a  chair,  took  my 
satchel  arid  bonnet  and  carried  them  into  a  little 
recess,  which  was  separated  from  the  main  room 
by  a  coarse  white  curtain.  Then  she  went  to 
her  father,  and  smoothed  the  stray  locks  away 
from  his  forehead,  and  kissed  him,  while  he 
silently  asked  a  blessing  upon  his  dutiful  and 
affectionate  child. 

Mrs.  Grey  set  away  her  spinning-wheel ;  and 
while  she  and  Annie  were  making  preparations 
for  supper,  I  entered  into  conversation  with  Mr. 
Grey.  He  talked  for  a  while  on  the  subject  of 
religion,  and  then,  at  my  request,  told  me  the 
story  of  his  misfortunes. 

"Several  years  ago,"  said  he,  "when  Annie 
was  quite  a  babe,  we  owned  a  snug  little  home, 
and  had  things  very  comfortable  around  us. 
I  had  plenty  of  work  to  do,  and  owed  no  man 


14  ANNIE  AND  ROSABELLE. 

any  thing ;  and  as  we  were  blessed  with  con- 
tented dispositions,  we  were  happy.  But  our 
heavenly  Father  saw  fit  to  send  great  tribula- 
tions upon  us.  First  our  house  was  burned 
down  ;  then  came  a  season  of  drought,  in  which 
my  crops  failed  and  my  cattle  died  ;  and  last  of 
all  I  met  with  an  accident  which  crippled  me, 
as  you  see.  For  seven  years  I  have  been  en- 
tirely helpless ;  but  I  try  to  bear  up  under  my 
afflictions  cheerfully.  It  is  good  to  be  afflicted 
in  the  loss  of  temporal  things,  if  we  are  thus 
enriched  in  soul  through  the  Saviour's  love  " 

Supper  was  soon  ready.  Very  simple  and 
plain  was  this  meal ;  but  when  the  good  man 
folded  his  hands  and  devoutly  asked  God's  bless- 
ing upon  it,  it  seemed  to  me  a  supper  fit  for 
kings.  Family  prayer  followed,  at  which  Mr. 
Grey  read  the  nineteenth  Psalm,  and  we  all 
united  in  singing  that  beautiful  hymn, 
"The  day  is  past  and  gone,''  etc. 

As  I  laid  my  head  upon  the  pillow  that  night, 
I  could  not  help  drawing  a  contrast  between 
Mr.  Lee  and  Mr.  Grey,  and  their  respective  fam- 
ilies ;  and  I  said  to  myself.  Verily,  there  is  a 
wealth  that  maketh  poor,  and  a  poverty  that 
serves  but  to  enrich. 


ANNIE  AND  ROSABELLE.  15 


CHAPTER   IV. 

SEVERAL  days  now  passed  without  any  thing 
worthy  of  note  occurring,  save  that  Kosabelle 
was  quite  serious,  and  Annie  not  well.  Dear 
Annie  was  never  very  strong,  but  of  late  she  had 
seemed  in  a  sort  of  gentle  decline.  She  did  not 
suffer  pain,  but  I  was  sure  her  pale  face  grew 
paler  and  her  delkate  form  more  slender  every 
day  ;  and  when  the  sultry  days  of  August  came, 
she  grew  wTeak  and  languid. 

I  had  not  seen  Mrs.  Grey  "for  several  weeks, 
and  fearing  that  she  might  be  still  ignorant  of 
the  truth,  I  resolved  to  go  home  with  Annie  and 
talk  with  her  that  very  night. 

As  we  entered  the  meadow,  we  were  talking 
about  the  flowers,  which  Annie  seemed  to  love 
dearly.  "How  delicately  some  of  them  are  col- 
ored," she  said,  "  and  what  an  expression  there 
is  on  their  sweet  faces,  as  though  they  would 
say,  '  God  is  good ;  he  made  us,  and  cares  for 
us.'" 

"Yes,"  I  said,  "I  often  admire  the  power  and 
wisdom  of  God  displayed  in  their  delicate  struc- 
tures, and  love  to  think  their  delicious  perfume 


16  ANNIE  AND  ROSABELLE. 

is  exhaled  like  incense  as  a  thank-offering  to 
their  Creator." 

There  was  a  sweet  smile  on  little  Annie's 
face,  and  she  nestled  her  hand  in  mine  confid- 
ingly as  we  entered  the  woods  and  walked  on 
in  silence,  till  we  came  to  the  brow  of  the  hill 
where  I  had  caught  such  a  glimpse  of  Annie's 
young  heart  on  the  occasion  of  my*  first  visit. 
"Will  you  sit  here  a  while  with  me?"  asked 
she,  pausing  in  the  very  place  where  we  had 
stopped  before. 

"With  pleasure,"  I  said;  "but,  darling,  how 
pale  you  look.  How  selfish  I  have  been  not  to 
think  of  you,  and  stop  to  rest  before." 

"No,  no,"  she  said  ;  "you  are  not  to  blame  in 
the  least.  I  tire  very  easily  of  late,  and  a  little 
exertion  makes  my  breath  come  short  and  quick, 
as  you  see.  My  cough  too  is  growing  more 
troublesome.  Do  you  think  it  will  ever  be  any 
better?" 

"Have  you  never  thought  what  it  may  lead 
to  ?"  I  asked,  after  a  moment's  silence. 

Annie  pointed  expressively  to  the  ground,  and 
then  lifted  her  eyes,  beaming  with  love  and  faith, 
to  the  clear  blue  sky,  which  seemed  smiling  upon 
us  but  a  little  -way  above  the  tree  tops. 

I  saw  at  once  that  my  little  friend  had  no 


ANNIE  AND  ROSABELLE.  17 

fears  of  death ;  and  was  delighted  to  find,  as 
she  freely  opened  her  heart  to  me,  how  calmly 
she  trusted  in  the  Saviour  and  relied  on  his 
promises,  taking  him  simply  at  his  word.  One 
thing  only  seemed  to  grieve  her ;  and  that  was 
the  thought  of  leaving  her  beloved  parents  in 
their  poverty  and  loneliness.  But  she  found 
relief  in  committing  them  to  the  care  of  the  Sav- 
iour they  loved. 

"  0  how  much  I  love  them,"  she  said.  "Then 
too,  I  am  all  the  child  they  have,  and  it  will  be 
so  hard  for  them  to  part  with  me.  This  is  what 
grieves  me  most.  Papa,  you  know,  is  old  and 
lame,  and  mamma  has  to  work  very  hard  to  sup- 
port us." 

"Your  parents  will  no  doubt  grieve  much  for 
you,"  I  said  ;  "  but  they  are  true  Christians,  and 
will,  I  trust,  be  reconciled  to  the  will  of  their 
heavenly  Father." 

"  Oh,  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  say  so,"  exclaim- 
ed Annie ;  "and  you  will  talk  with  them  about 
it,  wont  you?  I'm  afraid  they  don't  realize 
how  ill  I  am." 

A  little  while  longer  we  talked  together,  and 
then  went  down  the  hill,  and  wended  our  way 
slowly  across  the  fields. 

Arrived  at  the  house,  I  was  warmly  welcomed 

SER.  iv.  134 


18  ANNIE  AND  ROSABELLE. 

by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Grey,  and  an  hour  passed  in 
pleasant  conversation.  We  said  nothing,  how- 
ever, about  Annie's  health  until  supper  was 
nearly  ready,  when  she  took  a  small  tin  pail 
from  the  shelf,  and  went  to  the  spring  for 
water.  As  she  went,  she  turned  to  me,  and 
her  eyes  said,  Tell  them  all  about  it  while  I  am 
gone. 

I  complied  with  her  wish,  and  soon  found 
that  her  parents  were  aware  of  her  danger,  and 
ready  to  acquiesce  in  the  will  of  God.  They 
were  much  affected  as  I  repeated  to  them  our 
conversation  in  the  woods,  which  I  had  hardly 
finished  when  the  subject  of  our  thoughts  en- 
tered with  the  little  pail  of  water,  singing, 

"  Oh,  we  shall  happy  be, 
When,  from  sin  and  sorrow  free, 
Lord,  we  shall  live  with  thee 
For  evermore/' 

Soon  we  were  summoned  to  the  table,  and 
after  the  blessing  was  asked,  I  glanced  from  one 
to  another  of  the  family  group.  The  mother's 
lips  wore  a  peaceful  smile,  though  her  hand 
shook  as  she  turned  the  tea.  The  father  was 
calm,  and  conversed  cheerfully ;  while  little 
Annie,  glancing  from  one  to  the  other  affection- 
ately, seemed  very  happy.  Unconsciously  my 


ANNIE  AND  ROSABELLE.  19 

own  heart  grew  lighter  as  I  sat  in  that  peaceful 
circle,  and  I  felt  sure  that  God  was  there. 

A  number  of  days  passed  after  this  visit  at 
Mr.  Grey's,  and  still  Annie  came  regularly  to 
school,  till  an  event  occurred  which  laid  her  up 
at  home.  Towards  the  close  of  a  sultry  day,  I 
saw  every  indication  of  an  approaching  storm, 
and  omitting  several  classes,  I  closed  the  school, 
and  taking  Annie  under  my  care,  hastened  tow- 
ards her  home,  hoping  to  reach  it  before  the 
storm  came  on.  We  had  not  passed  through 
the  woods,  however,  before  a  deafening  peal  of 
thunder  broke  over  our  heads,  and  the  heavy 
raindrops  came  pouring  down  through  the  trees  ; 
and  long  before  we  reached  home,  we  were 
drenched  with  rain. 

Mrs.  Grey  assisted  us  to  exchange  our  wet 
garments  for  dry  and  warm  ones  as  soon  as  pos- 
sible ;  but  poor  Annie  took  a  severe  cold,  and 
when  I  left  her  the  next  morning,  she  appeared 
seriously  unwell. 


20  ANNIE  AND  ROSABELLE. 


CHAPTER  V. 

BEFORE  I  reached  the  school-house,  I  was  sur- 
prised to  see  Rosabelle  coming  to  meet  me. 

"Oh,  Miss  Hale,"  said  she,  "3-011  got  wet  last 
night,  didn't  you?  You  could  not  have  gone 
more  than  half  way  before  the  rain  came." 

"  We  were  just  about  half  way,"  I  replied, 
"  when  the  storm  reached  us,  and  we  got  thor- 
oughly soaked,  I  assure  you." 

"  Oh,  I  am  so  sorry.     But  where  is  Annie  ?" 

"  She  is  not  able  to  come  to  school  to-day ; 
she  is  quite  ill." 

"I  was  afraid  it  would  be  so.  How  sorry  I 
am  that  I  could  not  invite  her  home  with  me. 
I  am  very  unhappy,  Miss  Hale.  I  don't  believe 
there  is  another  girl  in  the  world  that  is  so  un- 
happy as  I  am.  I  would  give  every  thing  I 
have  for  that  peace  of  mind  which  you  and  An- 
nie were  talking  about  the  other  day." 

"You  can  have  it,  Rosabelle.  All  that  you 
need  do  is  to  give  your  heart  to  the  Saviour." 

"You  speak  as  though  it  was  a  very  simple 
thing  to  give  one's  heart  to  the  Saviour,  Miss 
Hale  ;  but  I  cannot  do  it.  I  have  tried  and 
tried,  but  it  is  all  in  vain." 


ANNIE  AND  ROSABELLE.  21 

"I  am  afraid  you  have  not  tried  right,  Rosa- 
belle.  The  Saviour  never  refuses  those  who 
come  to  him  sincerely  penitent  and  believing." 

"  Perhaps  I  am  not  sincere  enough,  or  not 
penitent  enough  for  my  past  sins ;  but,"  she 
added  earnestly,  "I  am  going  to  keep  trying.  I 
will  not  give  up  until  the  Lord  blesses  me." 

I  was  glad  to  hear  Rosabelle  say  this ;  and 
with  a  few  words  of  counsel  and  encouragement, 
our  conversation  ended,  for  we  had  reached  the 
school-house. 

Many  times  that  day  I  looked  towards  Annie's 
vacant  seat,  and  at  the  close  of  school  I  went 
again  to  spend  the  night  with  her. 

Mrs.  Grey  met  me  at  the  door,  and  in  reply 
to  rny  anxious  inquiry,  shook  her  head  sadly. 
"  She  fe  much  worse,  Miss  Hale.  We  have  had 
to  send  for  the  doctor  this  afternoon,  and  he 
talks  very  discouragingly  about  her.  He  says 
she  has  a  severe  attack  of  lung  fever,  and  that 
her  lungs  were  in  such  a  diseased  state  before, 
that  there  is  but  little  chance  for  her  recovery. 
Poor  child,  how  glad  she  will  be  to  see  you. 
She  has  talked  about  you  a  great  deal  to-day." 

All  that  night  I  watched  over  her  ;  and  she 
talked  at  intervals  of  Jesus  and  heaven,  and 
about  the  spiritual  welfare  of  her  school-mates. 


22  ANNIE  AND  ROSABELLE. 

On  leaving  her  in  the  morning,  I  promised  to 
bring  Rosabelle  to  see  her,  greatly  to  her  delight. 

When  I  asked  Rosabelle  to  go  to  Mr.  Grey's 
with  me,  she  raised  her  head  with  surprise,  and 
something  of  the  old  proud  look  came  back  to 
her  face ;  but  when  I  told  her  how  ill  Annie 
was,  and  how  much  she  wanted  to  see  her,  she 
said,  "  I  will  go  with  you,  Miss  Hale  ;  perhaps  it 
may  do  me  some  good,  and  if  not,  it  will  be  a 
satisfaction  to  her." 

Annie  was  overjoyed  to  see  her,  and  talked 
with  her  long  and  aflfectingly.  I  was  glad  to 
see  that  what  she  said  made  a  serious  impres- 
sion on  Rosabelle's  mind,  and  I  prayed  earnestly 
that  the  lesson  might  be  blessed  to  her  spiritual^ 
good.  Nearly  an  hour  she  sat  holding  Annie's 
hand  and  listening  to  her ;  then  bidding  her 
good-by  with  a  kiss,  she  promised  to  come  again, 
and  took  her  leave. 

For  a  long  time  after  she  was  gone,  Annie 
lay  with  her  eyes  closed  and  her  hands  folded, 
and  I  knew  by  the  movement  of  her  lips  that 
she  was  praying  for  Rosabelle  Lee. 

Next  day  Rosabelle  was  not  at  school ;  but 
she  had  been  absent  before,  and  it  was  not  till 
a  second  and  a  third  day  had  passed  without 
her  makir^  her  appearance,  that  I  began  to  be 


ANNIE   AND  ROSA13ELLE.  23 

alarmed  about  her,  and  called  to  inquire  if  she 
was  ill. 

Mrs.  Lee  received  me  very  coldly,  said  her 
daughter  was  not  very  well,  and  she  had  con- 
cluded not  to  let  her  come  to  school  any  more. 
I  expressed  my  surprise  and  regret,  and  asked 
to  see  her ;  but  her  mother  politely  declined, 
saying  that  Rosabelle's  mind  was  in  such  a  state 
of  excitement  that  she  was  unwilling  to  risk  an 
interview.  Feeling  myself  an  unwelcome  in- 
truder, I  quietly  withdrew,  with  many  fears  that 
the  child  whom  I  had  almost  counted  as  a  "lamb 
of  the  fold,"  would  forget  the  lessons  of  truth 
she  had  learned,  and  grow  weary  in  seeking  the 
Saviour.  But  I  could  only  commend  her  to  the 
care  of  Him  in  whom  is  all  our  hope. 

Several  days  passed,  and  then  a  tearful  group 
stood  round  the  bed  where  sweet  Annie  Grey 
lay  dying.  Through  all  her  distressing  illness 
she  had  borne  her  pain  without  murmuring,  and 
now,  even  while  she  was  grappling  with  the 
king  of  terrors,  the  little  sufferer  was  calm  and 
resigned.  After  a  severe  spasm,  she  looked  up 
to  her  mother  with  a  smile,  and  said,  "It's 
almost  over  now,  dear  mamma.  My  pains  will 
soon  cease,  and  I  shall  be  at  home  with  Jesus." 
Then,  after  a  short  pause,  she  added,  with  a 


24  ANNIE  AND  ROSABELLE. 

look  of  animation,  "  Oh,  if  this  is  death,  how 
sweet  it  is  to  die.  I  am  happy  ;  Oh,  so  happy  ! 
Oh,  father — mother,  pray.  Kneel  by  the  bed- 
side and  bless  the  Lord  for  his  loving  kindnesses 
and  tender  mercies."  She  said  no  more ;  but 
listening  to  the  voice  of  thanksgiving  and  praise, 
with  a  smile  of  peace  on  her  lips  she  went  down 
into  the  dark  valley. 

The  next  day  but  one  the  remains  of  little 
Annie  were  consigned  to  the  grave,  and  many 
tears  were  shed  by  those  who  had  known  and 
loved  her ;  but  all  knew  that  our  loss  was  her 
gain,  arid  that  it  would  be  very  wrong  to  wish 
her  back  again.  I  thought  so  too ;  and  as  I 
stood  by  the  open  grave,  I  repeated  to  myself 
the  words, 

"  Oh.  mother  Earth,  we  bring  to  thee 

A  priceless  boon  to-day, 
And  softly  on  thy  quiet  breast 

Our  blighted  bud  we  lay : 
Room  in  thy  softest,  greenest  spot, 

Room  'mid  thy  autumn  flowers : 
Dust  only  to  thy  care  we  give ; 

She  blooms  in  brighter  bowers/' 


ANNIE  AND  ROSABELLE.  25 


CHAPTER   VI. 

THREE  weeks  more,  and  my  school  closed.  I 
was  sad  at  the  thought  of  leaving  Chestnut  Grove 
and  iny  young  charge.  I  had  not  seen  Rosa- 
belle  to  converse  with  her  since  her  mother  took 
her  away  from  school ;  for  though  I  had  called 
several  times,  she  was  not  allowed  to  see  me ; 
and  now,  the  children  told  me,  she  had  gone 
away  with  her  father  to  visit  some  distant 
friends. 

Before  I  went  away,  I  called  on  all  who  had 
been  connected  with  my  school,  not  excepting 
the  little  one  who  dwelt  alone  in  the  narrow 
house  appointed  for  all  the  living.  It  was  sunset 
when  I  visited  Annie's  grave  ;  and  as  I  sat  by 
the  little  mound  that  awoke  a  thousand  tender 
memories,  the  evening  shades  had  deepened  and 
the  stars  were  out  before  I  reluctantly  with- 
drew, with  my  heart  full  of  good  resolves,  among 
which  was  one  that  I  would  always  remember 
Rosabelle  Lee  at  the  throne  of  grace. 

Months  passed,  and  though  I  had  written  sev- 
eral letters,  I  had  heard  not  a  word  from  Chest- 


26  ANNIE  AND  ROSABELLE. 

nut  Grove.     The  following  short  letter  was  the 
first  that  I  received  : 

"Miss  HALE — I  write  you  at  the  urgent  re- 
quest of  Rosabelle,  who  is  quite  ill.  She  is  very 
uneasy  in  her  mind,  and  extremely  anxious  to 
see  you ;  so  you  will  come  to  us,  I  hope,  at 
your  earliest  convenience.  The  phj-sicians  give 
us  but  little  hope  of  her  recovery.  Oh,  I  am 
sure  it  will  kill  me  if  my  child  dies.  I  don't 
know  what  I  have  ever  done  that  I  should  be 
so  deeply  afflicted.  Come  soon,  and  oblige, 

'•A.  C.  LEE/' 

Grief  and  joy  strove  for  the  mastery  in  my 
mind  when  I  read  this  unexpected  invitation  ; 
and  you  may  be  sure  I  lost  no  time  in  preparing 
to  hasten  to  my  dear  young  friend,  that  I  might 
impart  to  her  that  consolation  she  so  much  need- 
ed, and  which  her  father's  gold  could  not  buy. 
On  the  same  day,  when  the  afternoon  stage 
came  along,  I  took  a  place  among  its  passen- 
gers ;  and  though  our  progress  was  slow,  be- 
cause of  the  bad  roads,  on  the  second  day  I 
arrived  at  Mrs.  Lee's.  She  met  me  in  the  hall, 
and  taking  my  hand  warmly,  said  she  was  glad 
I  had  come  so  soon.  Poor  Rosabelle  was  "no 
better."  I  laid  aside  my  travelling  dress,  and 
Mrs.  Lee  went  to  tell  her  I  had  come.  She  had 


ANNIE  AND  ROSABELLE.  27 

been  gone  but  a  few  moments,  when  the  parlor 
door  opened,  and  Mrs.  Grey  stood  before  me. 
With  an  exclamation  of  surprise,  I  sprang  for- 
ward, and  was  folded  to  her  kind,  motherly 
heart.  I  asked  her  how  it  happened  that  she 
was  there,  and  she  replied  that  Rosabelle  had 
taken  it  into  her  head  that  no  one  else  could 
take  care  of  her ;  so  Mr.  Lee  had  employed  her 
to  nurse  the  child,  and  gave  her  very  liberal 
wages.  And  now  for  the  first  time  I  learned 
that  Mr.  Grey  was  not  alive,  having  fallen  asleep 
in  Christ  two  months  before. 

At  this  moment  Mrs.  Lee  returned  for  me, 
and  we  went  up  stairs  together. 

"  Oh,  I  am  so  glad  you  have  come,"  exclaimed 
Belle,  holding  out  both  her  emaciated  hands,  "  I 
am  so  glad  !"  Her  lip  began  to  quiver,  and  her 
eyes  to  fill  with  tears  ;  and  to  soothe  her,  I  said 
cheerfully,  "If  you  are  glad  to  see  me,  Rosa- 
belle,  you  must  not  cry  ;"  and  sitting  down  be- 
side her,  I  talked  familiarly  and  pleasantly  until 
the  tea-bell  rang. 

"Now  you  must  go,"  said  she:  "but  please 
come  back  again  after  supper.  I  love  to  hear 
you  talk.  I  love  to  have  you  near  me,  and  I 
want  you  to  read  to  me  in  the  Bible,  and  explain 
it  just  as  you  used  to  do  in  school." 


28  ANNIE  AND  ROSABELLE. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

RosABEtLE  was  more  beautiful,  if  possible, 
than  when  I  first  saw  her  in  the  bloom  of  health. 
Though  her  body  and  limbs  were  much  emaci- 
ated, her  face  had  lost  but  little  of  its  roundness. 
Her  skin  was  of  a  pearly  whiteness,  a  hectic 
glow  came  and  went  upon  her  cheeks,  and  her 
eyes  glowed  with  unwonted  brilliancy. 

"  Do  you  think  I  shall  ever  get  well  ?"  asked 
she  the  next  day,  as  I  sat  with  her  in  the  room 
alone.  "  You  need  n't  be  afraid  to  tell  me  what 
you  think  about  it,  for  it  cannot  be  worse  than 
what  I  believe.  I  know  I  am  going  to  die." 

"And  how  do  you  feel  in  view  of  the  great 
change  ?"  said  I,  taking  her  hand  in  my  own. 

"  I  hardly  know.  Sometimes  I  am  willing  to 
die,  and  then  I  am  very  happy  ;  but  oftener  my 
mind  is  filled  with  doubts,  and  I  shrink  from  the 
thought  of  death.  Oh,  Miss  Hale,  can  you  tell 
me  ?  Has  the  Lord  forgiven  my  sins,  or  am  I 
self-deceived  ?" 

"I  hope  you  arc  not  deceived,  Rosabelle. 
Have  you  not  had  some  satisfying  evidence  that 
your  sins  were  forgiven  ?" 


ANNIE  AND  11OSABELLE.  29 

"I  think  I  have,"  replied  she.  "At  times  I 
am  very  happy ;  and  even  in  my  darkest  hours 
I  do  not  lose  all  trust  in  my  Saviour." 

"Do  you  love  him  supremely,  and  desire  his 
favor  above  all  else  ?" 

"I  think  I  do." 

"If  you  do,  dear  child,  be  assured  that  he 
will  in  no  wise  cast  you  out.  God,  for  his  Son's 
sake,  I  trust,  has  pardoned  your  sins." 

"Then  why  do  I  have  these  gloomy  hours?" 

"  I  think  your  doubts  and  fears  arise  from  a 
want  of  faith,"  I  replied. 

"  Perhaps  so,"  said  she.  "  It  is  only  when  I 
remember  how  wicked  I  have  been,  and  how 
unworthy  I  am  still,  that  the  clouds  come  over 
my  mind.  It  seems  so  strange  that  God  can 
pardon  those  who  have  done  no  good  thing  in 
all  their  lives." 

"Yes,  it  is  strange.  The  great  love  which  he 
bears  to  sinners  is  one  of  his  brightest  glories. 
And  should  we  not  have  faith  in  Him  who  came 
to  seek  and  to  save  those  who  are  lost  ?  Yes, 
Rosabelle,  we  should  not  doubt,  but  trust  im- 
plicitly in  the  gracious  promises  of  Him  who 
hath  said,  '  Come  unto  me,  all  ye  that  labor  and 
are  heavy-laden,  and  I  will  give  you  rest." 

The  child  was  about  to  reply,  when  the  en- 


30  ANNIE  AND  ROSABELLE. 

trance  of  friends  who  had  called  to  see  her  put 
an  end  to  our  conversation. 

Time  passed  on,  and  every  day  as  the  dying 
girl  grew  more  feeble,  her  hope  and  faith  were 
strengthened,  until  no  doubt  cast  its  shadow 
over  her  happy  spirit. 

One  day  Mr.  Lee,  who  watched  over  his 
fading  child  with  the  most  intense  anxiety,  was 
sitting  by  the  bedside,  when  she  looked  up  and 
said,  "Papa,  how  much  would  you  give  if  you 
could  cure  me  V 

"What  a  question,  my  child!  I  would  give 
all  I  am  worth  in  the  world,  if  it  would  restore 
you  to  health,"  said  the  father,  earnestly. 

"But  it  wont,  papa.  The  whole  of  it  would 
not  buy  for  me  one  moment  of  life,  nor  ease  my 
pain." 

"  But  why  do  you  talk  so,  darling  ?" 

"Oh,  I  want  you  to  sec,  papa,  that  money, 
after  all,  isn't  worth  living  for.  I  know  that 
the  world  honors  those  who  have  it,  but  God 
does  not ;  and  he  says  in  his  holy  word  that  '  it 
is  easier  for  a  camel  to  go  through  the  eye  of  a 
needle,  than  for  a  rich  man  to  enter  the  kingdom 
of  God.'  You  have  often  told  me,  papa,  that 
you  were  making  money  for  imj  but  now  I  am 
going  to  die,  and  in  a  little  while  you  will  have 


ANNIE  AND  ROSABELLE.  31 

to  die  too  ;  then  what  will  you  do  with  all  your 
wealth  ?" 

There  was  an  expression  of  pain  on  the  father's 
face,  and  he  said  almost  sternly,  "Kosabelle,  do 
not  talk  so." 

"  But  I  must?  replied  the  child.  "  I  have  been 
wanting  to  talk  with  you  about  these  things  for 
a  long  time,  and  I  have  a  great  deal  that  I  wish 
to  say.  Are  you  not  willing  to  listen  to  me, 
now  that  you  know  I  must  leave  you  so  soon  ?" 
Mr.  Lee  bowed  his  head  in  silence,  and  she  went 
on.  "Ever  since  I  can  remember,  papa,  you 
have  been  very  kind  to  me,  and  I  want  to  thank 
you  for  all  your  love  and  care,  and  ask  your  for- 
giveness for  all  I  have  ever  done  to  grieve  you. 
Will  you  forgive  me,  papa  ?" 

"  Forgive  you  !  Yes,  my  darling.  Had  you 
done  a  thousand  times  worse,  I  should  not 
remember  it  against  you  now." 

"  And,  papa,  when  I  am  gone,  will  you  repent 
of  your  sins  and  give  your  heart  to  the  Saviour  ? 
Oh,  I  want  you  to  come  to  heaven  when  you 
die  ;  and  you  cannot  unless  you  are  a  Christian. 
Promise  me,  papa ;  do  promise  me  that  you  will 
seek  the  salvation  of  your  soul ;"  and  in  her 
earnestness  the  child  put  both  arms  round  her 
parent's  neck,  and  laid  her  burning  cheek  close 


32  ANNIE  AND  ROSABELLE. 

to  his ;  nor  did  she  rest  until  he  gladdened  her 
heart  by  giving  her  the  promise  she  required. 

"  I  promise  you,  Eosabelle,  and  may  God  help 
me  to  keep  my  promise." 

"And  he  will  help  you.  He  has  said,  'Knock, 
and  it  shall  be  opened ;  seek,  and  ye  shall  find  ; 
ask,  and  it  shall  be  given  unto  you.'  Oh,  papa, 
how  happy,  how  very  happy  you  have  made  me.  I 
am  ready  to  die.  I  have  nothing  more  to  live  for." 

Every  day  we  could  see  that  Rosabelle  faded 
more  rapidly,  and  we  knew  the  end  of  her  suffer- 
ings was  nigh.  She  talked  as  long  as  she  was 
able  of  the  goodness  and  mercy  of  the  Saviour ; 
and  when  her  voice  failed,  she  smiled  and  raised 
her  hands  upward,  as  though  to  assure  us  that 
all  was  peace.  So,  before  the  wind  flowers  blos- 
somed, or  the  early  violets  opened  their  azure 
eyes,  Rosabelle  Lee  went  to  sleep  to  wake  no 
more  on  earth. 

They  opened  a  grave  for  her  close  beside  An- 
nie Grey's,  for  she  had  expressed  a  desire  that 
it  should  be'  so,  and  laid  her  to  rest  with  many 
bitter  tears.  But  in  their  dark  night  of  sorrow 
a  light  beamed  in  upon  them,  faint  at  first,  but 
growing  clearer  the  more  they  trusted  and  be- 
lieved, until  their  hearts  rejoiced  in  the  light  of 
the  Sun  of  righteousness. 


SELF-CONTROL, 

A  TRUE  STORY. 


PUBLISHED  BY  THE 

AMERICAN   TRACT  SOCIETY. 

150  NASSAU-STREET,  NEW  YORK. 
135 


SELF-CONTROL. 

A  TRUE  STORY. 


CHAPTER   I. 

I  AM  going  to  tell  you  a  story  of  my  own 
childhood,  which  I  hope  will  interest  and  bene- 
fit my  young  readers.  * 


4  SELF-CONTROL. 

Early  one  spring,  when  I  was  abont  ten 
years  old,  my  mother  called  me  to  her  one 
bright  day,  and  said,  "Mary,  I  am  going  into 
the  country  to  visit  your  aunt  Amy,  -and  I 
think  I  shall  take  you  with  me." 

You  may  be  sure  this  announcement  gave 
me  much  joy.  I  jumped,  laughed,  clapped  my 
hands,  and  capered  about  the  room,  making 
myself  quite  ridiculous  in  the  excess  of  my  de- 
light. I  had  been  housed  up  all  winter  in  con- 
sequence of  ill  health,  and  the  thought  of  going 
out  into  the  beautiful  open  country,  where  I 
could  roam  over  the  broad  fields  and  pluck  the 
flowers,  made  me  feel  stronger  and  better  than 
I  had  for  many  a  day. 

The  hours  passed  heavily ;  and  at  first  it 
seemed  to  me,  in  my  impatience,  as  though  the 
morrow  never  would  come.  But  it  did  come 
at  last,  as  all  morrows  will ;  and  though  the 
clouds  hung  low,  and  there  was  every  prospect 
of  rain,  we  set  out  early  upon  our  little  jour- 
ney. At  first  it  was  rather  dull  and  gloomy, 
for  we  had  the  carriage  shut  up  to  keep  out  the 
air,  which  was  damp  and  chilly  ;  but  about  ten 
o'clock  the  heavy  mist  began  to  rise  from  the 
fields,  it  grew  lighter,  the  clouds  broke  away, 
the  sun  shone  out  cheerily,  and  every  thing 


SELF-CONTROL  5 

seemed  to  smile.  I  smiled  too  ;  and  now  that 
I  could  sec  out,  I  found  plenty  to  talk  about, 
I  chatted  almost  incessantly,  and  I  am  sure  if 
my  dear  mother  had  not  been  one  of  the  most 
patient  women  in  the  world,  I  must  have  great- 
ly wearied  her  with  my  ceaseless  questionings. 
After  we  had  gone  a  few  miles,  we  came  to 
a  beautiful  piece  of  woods,  and  mother  asked 
John  to  drive  very  slow,  that  we  might  have 
the  full  benefit  of  the  fine  concert  which  a 
"star  company"  of  birds  was  giving  gratui- 
tously among  the  tender  green  of  the  budding 
branches.  Oh  it  was  delightful.  I  was  charm- 
ed with  their  melody  and  with  the  novelty  of 
the  scene,  and  begged  that  we  might  get  out 
and  walk  a  little  way  into  the  forest ;  and 
mother  smilingly  consented.  So  down  John 
carne  from  his  seat,  and  helped  us  out ;  and 
while  he  stood  by  the  horses,  we  went  far  into 
the  shadowy  recesses  of  the  pleasant  woods, 
where  the  birds  carolled  overhead,  and  the 
wind-flower  and  the  modest  violet  looked  up 
with  their  starry  eyes  from  the  ground  at  our 
feet.  Mamma  helped  me  gather  a  bouquet  of 
the  little  blossoms,  and  then  we  returned  to  the 
carriage,  where  Jolm  was  patiently  waiting 
for  us. 


6  SELF-CONTROL. 

Soon  we  set  forward  again,  and  in  a  little 
while  came  to  a  beautiful  brook ;  and  John 
stopped  on  the  rustic  bridge  that  I  might  look 
at  the  little  fishes,  which  were  darting  to  and 
fro,  diving,  rising,  turning  over  in  all  manner 
of  ways,  in  their  innocent  freedom.  I  looked  a 
long  time,  and  was  just  turning  away  when  I 
chanced  to  spy  something  prettier  than  the 
fishes,  and  clapped  my  hands  with  delight. 
There,  just  a  little  way  above  the  water,  was 
a  bed  of  the  most  beautiful  pale  blue  flowers, 
and  they  seemed  nodding  and  blinking  at  me 
as  the  light  breeze  swept  over  them.  "See, 
see,"  I  cried,  pointing  to  the  little  beauties; 
and  mamma  nodded  and  smiled  as  she  replied, 
"Yes,  they  are  forget-me-nots.  John,  will  you 
be  so  kind  as  to  get  a  handful  of  them  for  us  ? 
The  horses  are  so  gentle  I  can  hold  them." 
John  willingly  complied,  and  bounding  over 
the  fence,  he  soon  returned  with  ever  so  many 
of  the  tiny  azure  blossoms,  which  seemed  to 
smile  out  of  their  golden  eyes  as  I  looked  ad- 
miringly down  upon  them. 

"Oh,  how  very  pretty  they  are,"  said  I.  "I 
think  they  are  handsomer  than  the  violets,  and 
they  are  certainly  more  fragrant  than  the  wind- 
flowers." 


SELF-CONTROL. 


CHAPTER   II. 

THE  sun  was  just  setting-,  my  violets  were 
quite  withered,  and  the  little  forget-me-nots 
had  shut  their  golden  eyes,  when  to  my  joy 
mother  pointed  out  aunt  Amy's  house.  Travel- 
worn  as  I  was,  the  sight  of  the  nice  house  nes- 
tled so  cozily  among  the  elm  and  maple  trees, 
made  me  forget  all  about  my  fatigue,  and  I 
leaned  eagerly  from  the  carriage  window,  im- 
patient to  get  a  glimpse  of  aunt  Amy  and  the 
cousins,  whom  I  had  not  seen  for  a  long  time. 
Mother  had  written  a  letter  to  aunt,  so  that  she 
was  looking  for  us ;  and  before  the  carriage 
fairly  stopped,  she  hurried  down  to  the  gate  to 
greet  us,  followed  by  a  merry  troop  of  little 
ones. 

I  always  loved  aunt  Amy,  and  I  felt  that  I 
should  love  her  now  more  than  ever,  as  she 
welcomed  us  in  her  honest,  hearty  way. 

"  Oh  I  'm  so  glad  to  see  you  again,"  she  said  ; 
"I  was  afraid  something  would  happen  to  de- 
tain you.  The  children  have  been  running  to 
'  and  fro  for  the  last  hour,  trying  to  see  which 
would  get  the  first  sight  of  you ;  and  if  you 


8  SELF  CONTROL. 

could  have  heard  the  noise  they  made  when  the 
carriage  drove  over  the  hill,  you  would  have 
some  idea  how  they  love  you."' 

"But  I  touldn't  holler  so  loud  as  I  love 
aunty  and  tousin  Mamy,"  said  little  Hiram ; 
and  we  all  laughed  heartily  as  we  went  up 
the  steps  and  entered  the  house. 

AVe  were  too  tired  to  enjoy  much  that  night, 
and  after  tea  we  went  early  to  bed.  1  lay  for 
a  long  time  thinking  over  the  events  of  the 
day,  then  fell  asleep,  and  did  not  wake  again 
until  it  was  broad  morning,  and  the  sun  was 
shining  in  at  the  open  window.  The  first  thing 
I  heard  was  a  bird,  singing  loud  enough  almost 
to  split  his  little  throat ;  and  jumping  up,  I  ran 
to  the  window  to  see  the  little  songster.  And 
there,  sure  enough,  in  a  little  tree  right  under 
the  window,  was  a  beautiful  bird  with  brown 
and  golden  plumage ;  and  he  did  not  seem  at 
all  afraid,  but  looked  right  at  me  with  his  bright 
eyes,  and  nodded  his  head  while  he  warbled 
something  which  I  interpreted  as,  "  Good-morn- 
ing, little  girl.  How  d'ye  do  ?  how  d'ye  do  ?" 

In  a  little  while  mother  came  up  to  help  me 
dress,  and  when  we  went  down,  all  the  cousins, 
Fanny  and  George,  Charlotte  and  Hiram,  were 
waiting  in  the  hall  to  bid  me  good-morning. 


SELF-CONTROL.  9 

When  the  greetings  were  over,  Fanny  pro- 
posed that  as  there  was  time  before  breakfast, 
I  should  go  out  to  the  barnyard  and  see  the 
calves  and  the  little  chickens.  Mamma  con- 
sented, and  away  we  went,  as  happy  as  could 
be.  When  the  old  hen  saw  us  coming,  she 
spread  her  wings  and  bustled  around  with  a 
great  noise,  as  much  as  to  say,  "Touch  one  of 
iny  little  chicks  if  you  dare."  But  the  calves 
were  glad  to  see  us,  and  made  themselves  quite 
familiar — a  little  too  much  so,  I  thought,  when 
one  great  fat  fellow  got  the  corner  of  my  nice 
white  apron  in  his  mouth,  and  began  to  chew 
it  up  for  his  breakfast.  I  was  quite  frightened, 
and  was  glad  to  get  safely  out  of  the  yard,  arid 
promised  myself  that  I  would  keep  out  for  the 
future,  which  made  little  Hiram  laugh  heartily 
as  he  exclaimed,  "You  'fraid  of  Bossy,  tousin  ? 
Bossy  taut  bite  ;  Bossy  ha'n't  dot  no  toofys." 

Fanny  now  led  the  way  to  the  swing,  which 
was  fixed  in  a  big  maple-tree  at  the  back  of  the 
house  ;  and  as  there  was  room  on  the  seat  for 
two,  I  took  Lotty  beside  me,  and  away  we 
went  like  birds. 

When  the  breakfast  bell  rang,  I  went  in,  feel- 
ing as  bright  and  as  happy  as  a  lark.  Uncle 
Stephen,  whom  I  had  not  seen  before,  was  in 


10  SELF-CONTROL. 

the  dining-room,  and  he  put  both  hands  on  my 
head,  and  spoke  to  me  very  kindly  ;  then  turned 
to  mother,  saying,  "  She  does  n't  look  much  like 
my  little  chicks.  There's  nothing  like  coun- 
try air  and  bread  and  milk  for  making  children 
healthy.  Why,  if  Fanny  and  Lotty  were  so 
pale,  I  should  think  they  were  going  to  die. 
But  if  you  stay  with  us  long  enough,  little  one, 
we  will  put  some  roses  in  your  cheeks,  I  'm  a 
thinking,  and  sha'n't  charge  any  thing  for  it 
either."  Dear  uncle  Stephen,  how  I  loved  him  ; 
and  when  he  folded  his  hands  so  reverently, 
and  asked  a  blessing,  I  thought  I  had  never 
seen  a  better  man. 

After  breakfast  was  over,  Fanny  brought  the 
Bibles,  and  each  member  of  the  family  except 
little  Hiram  read  two  verses  apiece,  until  a  chap- 
ter was  finished.  Then  uncle  explained  some  of 
the  difficult  passages,  so  that  we  could  under- 
stand them  better ;  and  after  that  we  all  kneel- 
ed down,  while  he  prayed  the  Lord  to  forgive 
us  our  sins,  bless  us  with  his  love,  and  watch 
over  and  care  for  us  thro'ugh  the  day.  Very 
earnestly  he  presented  his  petitions,  and  it 
seemed  as  though  God  was  very  near  us.  When 
I  went  out  to  play  again,  I  felt  that  his  all- 
seeing  eye  was  upon  me,  and  I  resolved  to  be 


SELF-CONTROL.  11 

very  good  all  day,  and  neither  say  nor  do  any 
thing  he  would  not  approve. 

We  swung,  jumped  the  rope,  played  hide-and- 
seek  and  blind-man's-buff  until  we  were  tired. 
Then  we  went  into  the  garden,  and  built  a 
baby-hous'e  out  of  some  bits  of  board,  and  made 
believe  we  were  grown-up  people.  We  dressed 
up  and  went  visiting,  and  talked  with  grave 
faces  about  the  affairs  of  our  respective  fami- 
lies ;  and  Fanny,  who  was  mistress  of  the 
house,  brought  some  bits  of  cake  and  cheese, 
and  set  her  table  in  a  chair.  Just  in  the  midst 
of  our  fun,  mamma  and  aunt  Amy  came  out  to 
see  what  had  become  of  us,  we  had  been  away 
from  the  house  so  long ;  and  we  laughed  and 
hid  our  faces,  and  felt  very  foolish,  until  aunt 
Arny  smiled  and  said  she  was  glad  to  find  us 
so  pleasantly  engaged.  Then  mamma  distrib- 
uted the  little  gifts  she  had  brought  from  the 
city.  There  was  a  nice  china  set  of  tea  things 
for  cousin  Fanny,  a  riding-whip  for  George,  a 
big  wax  doll  for  Lotty,  and  a  tin  horse  fastened 
to  a  tin  cart  for  little  Hiram.  How  happy  they 
all  felt  with  their  treasures  ;  and  when  we 
were  alone  again,  each  little  tongue  was  loud 
in  its  praises  of  aunt  Julia,  as  they  called  my 
mother. 


12  SELF-CONTROL, 

"I  do  believe  she  is  the  very  best  woman  in 
the  world,"  said  Fanny.  "And  I,  and  I,  and  I," 
echoed  the  rest.  This  flattered  my  vanity,  and 
I  said  quite  pompously,  "Yes,  she  is  the  best 
woman  in  the  world." 

"'Cept  my  moder,"  said  little  Hiram. 

"  Oh,  your  mother  will  do  well  enough,"  said 
I,  "but  she  is  n't  such  a  lady  as  my  mother  is." 

This  speech  caused  quite  a  sensation  among 
the  cousins,  as~  well  it  might.  Fanny's  face 
grew  very  red,  but  she  spoke  calmly  as  she 
said,  "City  people  arc  sometimes  more  genteel 
than  country  folks ;  but,  Mary,  I  do  n't  think 
your  mother  is  any  letter  than  mine." 

"No,  indeed,"  exclaimed  George,  cracking 
his  whip  emphatically.  "My  mother's  better 
than  any  other  woman  I  know  of." 

"  So  she  is,"  added  Lotty.  "  1  thank  aunt 
Julia  for  bringing  me  this  pretty  doll,  but  I 
never  could  love  her  as  I  love  my  own  dear 
mother." 

"Nor  I,"  said  little  Hiram.  "Ki!  see  my 
hoss  and  buddy  do ;"  and  away  went  the  toy, 
which  he  had  fixed  at  the  top  of  an  inclined 
board,  whizzing  like  a  miniature  locomotive. 

I  had  provoked  this  discussion  myself,  and 
had  no  right  to  feel  aggrieved ;  but  1  was  vex- 


SELF-CONTROL-  13. 

ed  that  they  had  disputed  me,  and  covering  my 
face  with  my  hands,  began  to  cry. 

"Oh,  don't  cry,"  said  Fanny,  putting  her 
arms  around  my  neck  and  kissing  me.  "I 
did  n't  mean  to  hurt  your  feelings  so ;  please 
forgive  me." 

Shamed  by  her  gentleness,  I  wiped  the  tears 
away  ;  but  I  felt  somewhat  sulky  all  the  rest  of 
the  afternoon,  and  I  am  sure  I  must  have  made 
my  young  friends  unhappy  with  my  sour  face. 

Ah,  my  little  readers,  I  had  never  learned 
the  great  lesson  of  self -control.  Naturally  of  a 
slender  constitution,  and  an  only  child,  I  had 
been  petted  and  indulged  all  my  life  long  ;  and 
because  everybody  tried  to  please  me,  and  I 
had  nothing  to  cross  my  wishes,  I  was  called 
a  very  sweet-tempered  child.  I  had  never  ex- 
amined my  heart  very  closely,  but  said  my 
prayers  with  my  lips  night  and  morning,  arid 
was  so  self-conceited  as  to  think  myself  a  cor- 
rect pattern,  which  all  little  girls  would  do  well 
to  follow. 

Ah  me,  how  blinded  we  a*e  by  prosperity. 
How  little  we  know  the  true  nature  of  our 
hearts  until  crosses  and  trials  come,  showing 
us  our  utter  sinfulness  and  our  helpless  de- 
pendence upon  our  heavenly  Father. 


14  SELF-CONTROL. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THAT  night,  before  we  went  to  bed,  aunt  Amy 
said  she  had  a  nice  plan  for  the  morrow,  and 
would  tell  us  about  it  then,  that  we  might  all 
be  up  bright  and  early  in  the  morning.  She 
said  if  the  weather  was  fine,  we  would  all  go 
on  a  picnic  excursion  in  the  woods,  and  have 
a  sail  on  the  river.  This  announcement  gave 
us  little  ones  unbounded  delight.  For  my  part, 
I  hardly  dared  go  to  sleep,  for  fear  I  should 
not  wake  early  enough ;  but  tired  nature  at 
length  asserted  its  right,  and  I  dropped  off  into 
forgetfulness. 

The  first  thing  I  heard  when  I  opened  my 
eyes  in  the  morning  was,  not  the  song  of  the 
beautiful  bird  that  had  cheered  me  the  morning 
before,  but  the  dull  patter  of  falling  rain.  How 
my  heart  sank ;  and  with  a  fretful  "  Oh  dear," 
I  nestled  back  on  my  pillow,  and  cried  with 
disappointment.  Just  then  there  was  a  gentle 
rap  on  the  door.  I  neither  spoke  nor  looked 
up,  and  the  next  moment  a  soft  voice  at  the 
bedside  said,  "  It  is  too  bad  ;  but  cheer  up,  dear 
Mary  ;  another  day  is  coming  ;  it  is  n't  always 
going  to  rain." 


SELF-CONTROL.  15 

It  was  Fanny,  who  with  just  as  much  cause 
to  feel  bad  as  I  had,  had  come  to  comfort  me. 
Her  face  was  as  bright  as  though  there  was 
not  a  cloud  in  the  sky,  and  her  smiles  actually 
made  it  seem  sunshiny  in  the  room.  I  won- 
dered how  she  could  feel  so  cheerful,  and  said 
somewhat  pettishly,  "Oh  dear,  how  can  you 
be  so  happy  ?  I  do  n't  believe  you  cared  any 
thing  about  going  into  the  woods." 

"Oh  yes  I  did  ;  I  wanted  to  go  very  much," 
replied  she;  "but  I  knew  fretting  wouldn't 
make  the  rain  stop,  and  I  am  trying  to  make 
the  best  of  it." 

"But  how  can  you  take  it  so  coolly?  For 
my  part,  I  do  n't  like  to  be  disappointed,"  said  I. 

"Nor  I  either,"  replied  Fanny  ;  "and  I  used 
to  fret  and  cry  when  things  didn't  go  just  as 
I  wanted  them  to,  and  make  myself  and  my 
friends  very  unhappy,  till  I  hope  I  learned  the 
lesson  of  self-control." 

"Self-control,"  said  I ;  "  that  must  be  a  very 
hard  lesson  to  learn." 

"  Yes,  it  is  hard,"  replied  Fanny  ;  "  but  there 
is  One  who  will  help  you,  and  make  it  easy,  if 
you  go  to  him  and  ask  him  aright." 

"You  mean  the  Saviour,"  I  said,  reverently. 
Fanny  nodded  assent,  and  went  on. 


16  SELF-CONTROL. 

"Dear  cousin,  you  cannot  tell  how  much 
happier  I  am  now  than  I  used  to  be.  Then, 
something  was  going  wrong  continually,  and  I 
was  always  in  a  pet.  I  often  resolved  to  do 
better,  and  many  times  when  I  got  up  in  the 
morning  would  make  a  great  many  good  prom- 
ises ;  but  I  did  n't  ask  the  Lord  to  help  me  keep 
them,  and  they  were  sure  to  be  broken  before 
night."  I  thought  of  the  resolutions  I  had 
made  the  day  before,  and  how  sadly  they  were 
broken,  but  said  nothing,  and  Fanny  contin- 
ued, "  I  do  n't  know  how  long  things  would 
have  gone  on  in  the  same  way  with  me,  if  it 
had  n't  been  for  that  accident  which  happened 
to  Hiram  a  year  ago." 

"  You  mean  his  arm,"  said  I.  "  Your  mother 
wrote  to  us  that  he  had  fallen  down  stairs  and 
broken  it." 

"  Yes,  but  there  is  a  story  connected  with  it 
that  you  do  n't  know  ;  and  it  is  so  dreadful  you 
will  hardly  believe  it  when  I  tell  it  to  you.  A 
year  ago  Hiram  was  quite  a  baby,  and  it  was 
necessary  for  mother  to  go  to  the  village  for 
something  one  day,  so  she  left  him  in  my  care, 
charging  me  not  to  leave  him  alone  a  minute, 
but  to  attend  to  him  patiently  until  her  return. 
For  the  first  half  hour  I  obeyed  her ;  then  I 


SELF-CONTROL.  17 

began  to  tire,  and  for  change  took  the  baby  up 
stairs,  though  I  knew  all  the  time  that  mother 
wouldn't  let  me  do  it  if  she  was  at  home.  I 
gave  him  some  papers  to  play  with ;  then  got 
out  my  little  work-basket,  and  went  to  sewing 
on  some  bits  of  silk  mamma  had  given  me  to 
make  my  doll  a  dress.  I  worked  for  a  while, 
then  wondering  why  baby  was  so  still,  I  looked 
around  to  see  what  he  was  doing.  There  he 
stood  just  behind  me,  with  my  beautiful  new 
doll,  which  I  had  carelessly  left  in  a  chair,  in  his 
hands,  and  he  had  pulled  nearly  every  curl  from 
its  head.  I  was  angry,  very  angry  ;  and  rush- 
ing up  to  him,  I  snatched  the  doll  away,  and 
struck  him  a  hard  blow  on  his  face.  He  gave 
a  loud  cry,  and  stepped  backwards  ;  but  I  fol- 
lowed him,  and — Oh,  Mary,  I  would  n't  have 
struck  him  again  for  the  world,  if  I  had  sup- 
posed lie  was  so  near  the  stairway,  but  I  was 
so  blinded  by  passion  that  I  didn't  see  it — 
and— and— he  fell  P 

"  Oh  dear,"  said  I,  shuddering,  "  what  did  you 
do?" 

"  I  did  n't  do  any  thing  for  a  moment,  but 
stood  still,  horrified  at  what  I  had  clone.  Then 
I  flew  down  stairs,  and  caught  up  baby  in  my 
arms.  He  lay  so  white  and  still  that  I  thought 

SER.  iv  136 


18  SELF  CONTROL. 

he  was  dead,  and  running  out  into  the  yard  I 
screamed  for  help.  In  a  few  moments  some  of 
the  neighbors  came,  and  then  from  excess  of 
terror  I  fainted  away.  When  I  came  tor  moth- 
er was  bathing  my  face,  and  looking  so  pale 
and  sad  that  I  hardly  knew  her.  I  didn't 
speak  ;  I  did  n't  dare  to  ask  if  baby  was  dead, 
but  pulled  the  quilt  over  my  face  and  cried  bit- 
terly. Then  mother  went  away,  and  I  lay  for 
a  long  time  in  the  most  agonizing  suspense. 
At  length  I  heard  a  low  cry,  which  I  knew  to 
be  Hiram's ;  and  overjoyed  that  he  was  yet 
alive,  I  ran  into  the  room,  where  several  of  the 
neighbors  were  with  father  and  mother  and  the 
doctor  standing  around  poor  baby,  who  looked 
like  a  corpse.  They  did  not  notice  me,  and 
shrinking  into  a  corner,  I  saw  the  doctor  work 
at  the  little  broken  arm  until  I  could  bear  it  no 
longer,  and  I  ran  away  out  of  doors. 

"How  I  wept  and  prayed  when  I  got  quite 
alone  by  myself.  Oh,  Mary,  it  seemed  as  though 
I  should  die,  I  felt  so  bad.  But  after  a  while  I 
grew  calmer.  In  all  my  life  I  had  never  prayed 
before  as  I  prayed  then.  I  asked  the  Lord  to 
take  all  anger  and  wickedness  out  of  my  heart, 
and  to  make  me  patient  and  good  always.  I 
think  lie  heard  me,  for  seldom  since  that  day 


SELF-CONTROL.  19 

have  I  been  really  angry  or  unkind  to  any  one  ; 
and  if  any  thing  happens  to  trouble  me,  I  go 
away  and  pray,  and  somehow  it  seems  all  right, 
and  I  feel  as  bright  and  cheerful  as  can  be." 

"  Oh,  if  I  could  only  feel  so,"  sighed  I. 

"  And  you  can,  dear  cousin,  without  my  ter- 
rible experience  too,"  said  Fanny,  cheerfully. 
"The  Saviour  is  always  ready  to  pardon  and 
help  those  who  come  to  him ;  and  if  you  pray 
to  him  earnestly,  he  will  hear  and  answer  you  " 

I  felt  comforted  by  Fanny's  words  ;  and  when 
she  went  out,  I  knelt  down  and  besought  our 
heavenly  Father  to  change  my  heart  and  make 
me  his  child,  and  to  guide  and  bless  me  through 
the  day.  While  I  was  praying,  the  "unhappy 
feeling  of  disappointment  went  out_  from  my 
heart,  and  a  little  ray  of  the  sunshine  which 
made  Fanny's  happiness,  came  in  and  lighted 
my  bosom  also.  I  had  taken  my  first  lesson  in 
self-control. 


20  SELF-CONTROL. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  day,  notwithstanding  the  rain,  passed 
very  pleasantly.  We  had  the  garret,  which 
was  wide  and  roomy,  for  our  playhouse ;  and 
Fanny  exerted  herself  so  incessantly  to  amuse 
us,  that  we  could  not  help  being  happy.  When 
night  came,  I  went  to  bed  feeling  quite  satis- 
fied with  myself  for  the  extra  pains  I  had  taken 
to  do  right ;  and  after  a  night  of  unbroken  re- 
pose, I  awoke  with  the  first  golden  sunbeams 
shining  in  upon  my  face,  and  the  sweet  little 
bird  singing  merrily  in  the  tree  under  the  win- 
dow. I  was  so  overjoyed  at  the  thought  of 
the  fine  time  we  were  going  to  have,  that  I 
almost  forgot  my  prayers;  and  I'm  afraid  I 
did  n't  ask  the  Divine  blessing  and  guidance  as 
I  ought,  I  was  in  such  a  hurry. 

After  breakfast  was  over  and  the  morning 
work  was  done,  aunt  Amy  put  some  cake  and 
cheese  in  a  little  basket,  and  we  set  out  in  high 
glee  for  the  woods.  It  was  but  a  little  way 
down  the  lane,  over  a  bit  of  meadow,  and  then 
we  entered  a  beautiful  maple  grove.  This  was 
uncle  Stephen's  sugar  orchard,  where  he  made 


SELF-CONTROL.  21 

nice  maple  sugar.  There  was  a  snug  little  cab- 
in at  the  boiling  place,  and  the  sap  buckets  and 
big  kettles  were  there  piled  up  in  one  corner, 
and  the  big  brands  of  wood  in  the  arch  looked 
as  though  they  had  but  just  gone  out.  I  had 
never  seen  maple  sugar  made,  and  we  all  sat 
down  in  the  little  cabin  to  rest,  Avhile  aunt  Amy 
very  kindly  explained  the  process  to  me.  She 
said  that  in  March,  and  sometimes  as  early  as 
February,  if  the  weather  was  fine,  uncle  made  a 
quantity  of  "  spiles,"  and  tapped  his  trees  ;  and 
when  the  sap  began  to  run  nicely  through  the 
spiles  into  pails,  he  built  up  a  roaring  fire  in  the 
arch,  and  filled  the  big  cauldron  with  the  sap. 
Then  he  kept  a  steady  fire  until  it  was  boiled 
down  to  a  kind  of  thin  molasses  or  syrup,  when 
it  was  strained  off  and  put  away  to  settle. 
After  this  the  sugar  making  was  very  easy. 
They  had  only  to  put  the  syrup  in  a  nice  clean 
kettle,  and  boil  it  gently  a  little  while,  and 
when  it  was  thick  enough  to  "grain,"  it  was 
done,  and  they  sometimes  poured  it  into  pans 
or  moulds  to  harden  into  cakes. 

I  thanked  aunt  Amy  for  the  pains  she  had 
taken  to  please  and  instruct  me,  and  could  not 
help  expressing  a  wish  that  I  had  been  there  in 
sugar-time,  so  that  I  could  have  seen  the  pro- 


-2'2  SELF-CONTROL. 

cess  and  eaten  some  of  the  warm  sugar.  By 
this  time  Fanny  and  George  had  built  a  fire ; 
and  when  I  asked  what  it  was  for,  aunt  Amy 
said  she  had  brought  some  sugar  with  her  to 
melt  over,  so  that  we  could  have  some  to  eat. 

This  was  an  unexpected  kindness,  and  I  was 
very  grateful  to  aunt  for  her  forethought. 
While  she  was  busy  round  the  kettle,  she  said 
we  would  have  time  for  a  little  play  before  the 
sugar  was  ready  to  eat ;  and  away  we  scam- 
pered, making  the  woods  ring  with  our  wild 
shouts  and  merry  laughter.  We  gathered  whole 
handfuls  of  the  sweet  blue  violets  and  little  rose- 
colored  anemones,  and  then  we  came  to  the  lit- 
tle brook,  where  were  ever  so  many  bluebells 
in  bloom  on  the  other  side. 

"  Oh,  how  I  wish  we  had  some  of  them. 
Is  n't  there  any  way  we  can  get  at  them  ?"  I 
exclaimed. 

"  There  used  to  be  a  bridge,"  replied  Fanny, 
"but  it  was  washed  away  in  the  big  freshet 
this  spring ;  and  now  there  is  no  way, to  cross 
except  on  the  large  log  which  you  see  just 
down  there  by  the  whitewood-tree.  Papa  goes 
over  on  it  quite  often,  and  it  is  safe,  I  suppose, 
so  I  will  go  over  and  get  you  some  of  the  blue- 
bells." 


SELF-CONTROL  23 

"  Oh,  let  me  go  with  you,"  said  I ;  "  it  will 
be  such  fun  to  walk  over  the  water  on  a  log." 

"  But  you  might  fall  in,"  said  Fanny,  "  and 
that  would  n't  be  very  funny,  would  it  ?  No,  1 
think  you  had  better  stay  here,  and  I  will  get 
you  the  flowers." 

Fanny  spoke  very  sweetly,  but  I  was  angry 
that  she  should  oppose  me,  and  said  haughtily, 
"  1 7d  like  to  know  what  right  you  have  to  tell 
me  what  I  had  better  do.  I  can  walk  over  a 
log  as  well  as  anybody,"  and  I  started  along 
towards  the  big  whitewood  log,  Fanny  looked 
troubled,  and  taking  hold  of  my  arm,  said  ear- 
nestly, "  Oh  do  n't,  cousin  Mary ;  please  do  n't ; 
I  'in  so  afraid  you  will  fall." 

"  But  I  a'n't  afraid,"  exclaimed  I,  and  rudely 
pulling  my  arm  away,  I  stepped  upon  the  log 
I  looked  back  ;  Fanny's  eyes  were  full  of  tears, 
and  I  half  repented  ;  but  self-will  triumphed, 
and  I  walked  forward. 

"Be  very  careful  how  you  step,"  said  Fanny 
"  Keep  your  eyes  on  the  log,  but  do  n't  look  at 
the  water,  and  when  you  are  safely  over  I  will 
come  to  you." 

ft  Oh,  I  'm  not  afraid  ;  there  is  no  danger," 
said  I,  confidently  ;  and  to  show  my  indepen- 
dence, I  leaned  to  one  side  and  looked  down 


24  SELF-CONTROL. 

into  the  little  brook.  The  sun  shining  upon 
the  water  dazzled  my  eyes  ;  I  felt  sick  and 
dizzy  for  a  moment,  then  tottered  and  fell  I 
heard  Fanny's  cry  of  terror,  thought  of  my 
mother,  and  struggled  to  save  myself ;  but  the 
cold  water  closed  over  me,  and  a  dead  weight 
seemed  dragging  me  down.  I  was  fully  con- 
scious of  my  danger,  and  tried  to  pray  ;  then  a 
feeling  like  that  of  sleep  came  over  me,  and  I 
remember  no  more. 

Fanny  told  me  afterwards  that  as  soon  as  I 
fell  she  ran  for  help,  and  in  a  few  moments 
mother  and  aunt  Amy  came  to  my  rescue.  The 
water  where  I  fell  was  not  very  deep,  and  wad- 
ing in,  mother  succeeded  in  reaching  me,  and 
aunt  Amy  helped  carry  me  to  the  bank,  where 
they  tried  every  means  in  their  power  to  re- 
store me  to  consciousness.  At  first  it  seemed 
as  though  they  would  never  succeed.  I  lay  so 
white  and  still,  they  feared  I  was  really  dead  ; 
but  after  a  while  I  began  to  show  signs  of  re- 
turning life. 

The  first  thing  I  remember,  I  was  icy  cold 
and  in  grdat  pain  ;  then  I  felt  warm  tears  rain- 
ing over  my  face,  and  heard  my  mother's  voice, 
tremulous  with  emotion,  blessing  God  because 
he  had  spared  the  life  of  her  child.  Then  aunt 


SELF-CONTROL.  25 

Amy's  sweet  voice  murmured,  "  Poor  thing  ; 
poor  little  thing,  I  fear  it  will  be  the  death  of 
her  ;"  and  Fanny,  sobbing  as  though  her  heart 
would  break,  put  her  arms  round  my  neck,  and 
begged  me  to  open  my  eyes  and  speak  to  her 
once  more.  I  tried  to  look  up  and  to  speak, 
but  my  eyelids  seemed  borne  down  by  leaden 
weights  ;  and  though  I  could  move  my  lips  a 
little,  my  tongue  refused  to  obey  my  will,  and 
I  uttered  not  a  sound. 

Though  in  great  pain,  I  heard  every  word 
that  was  said,  and  understood  every  thing  that 
was  passing  around  me.  I  knew  when  they 
sent  Fanny  for  uncle  Stephen,  and  felt  grateful 
as  I  heard  the  quick  patter  of  her  feet  die  away 
in  the  distance.  I  wondered  how  long  it  would 
take  him  to  come  ;  and  it  seemed  like  an  age 
while  I  lay  there,  with  mother  and  aunt  Amy 
chafing  my  benumbed  limbs  and  talking  in 
low  tones  over  me,  till  at  length  I  heard  uncle 
Stephen's  voice.  He  lifted- me  in  his  strong 
arms,  and  immediately  set  out  for  home,  fol- 
lowed by  the  others,  and  scarcely  another  word 
was  spoken  until  we  reached  the  house.  They 
carried  me  up  to  Fanny's  room,  wrapped  me  in 
warm  flannel  sheets,  and  put  me  to  bed.  Oh, 
how  carefully  and  tenderly  my  mother  did 


26  SELF-CONTROL. 

every  thing  she  could  think  of  for  my  restora- 
tion, and  how  often  she  laid  her  cheek  lovingly 
to  mine  to  see  if  it  was  getting  warm.  And 
when  the  doctor  came,  how  eagerly  she  ques- 
tioned him  about  me.  Never  till  then  had  I 
understood  how  well  she  loved  me  ;  and  as  I 
lay  there  in  my  pain  and  helplessness,  I  firmly 
resolved,  if  I  ever  got  well,  I  would  show  my 
gratitude  by  being  more  obedient  and  affection- 
ate than  I  had  ever  yet  been  to  her. 

I  was  in  much  pain  that  night ;  and  it  in- 
creased my  suffering  when  I  reflected  that  I 
had  brought  it  all  upon  myself  by  my  ill-humor 
and  self-will.  Then  what  cousin  Fanny  had 
said  to  me  about  self-control  came  fresh  to  my 
mind,  and  I  felt  very  unhappy.  Oh,  if  I  had 
only  yielded  to  her  gentle  entreaties,  or  gone 
back  when  the  still  small  voice  in  my  heart 
bade  me  to  do  so.  I  felt  that  it  was  the  voice 
of  God.  But  regrets  were  useless  ;  I  had  only 
to  improve  upon  my  sad  experience  ;  and  I  com- 
forted myself  by  resolving  over  and  again  how, 
under  all  circumstances  in  future  time,  I  would 
heed  the  monitions  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  and  prac- 
tise a  Christian  self-control. 


SELF-CONTROL.  27 


CHAPTER  V. 

NEXT  day  I  was  better,  but  still  too  weak 
and  ill  to  sit  up.  Aunt  Amy  took  care  of  me, 
for  mamma's  fright,  anxiety,  and  watching  had 
given  her  such  a  headache  that  she  was  con- 
fined to  her  room.  She  read  to  me,  and  sang 
some  beautiful  verses  ;  and  when  I  asked  her 
to  tell  me  a  story,  she  readily  consented,  and 
drawing  her  chair  near  the  bed,  she  began' a 
new  seam  and  her  story  at  the  same  time. 

"  When  I  was  a  little  girl,  as  long  ago  as  1 
can  remember,  I  was  very  quick-tempered.'' 

"  You  quick-tempered  ?"  said  I,  looking  in 
surprise  upon  her  placid  brow. 

"  Yes,"  replied  she  with  a  quiet  smile,  "  and 
1  used  to  make  myself  and  my  friends  very  un- 
happy by  rny  self-will.  1  wanted  to  have  my 
own  way  at  all  times,  and  often  disobeyed  my 
kind  mother  for  the  sake  of  gratifying  my  self- 
ish desires.  In  this  way  I  lived  until  I  was 
about  your  age.  Then  I  began  to  think  seri- 
ously of  the  course  1  was  pursuing.  I  knew  if 
I  continued  thus,  I  should  always  render  my 
friends  unhappy  and  my  own  existence  miser- 


28  SELF-CONTROL. 

able,  and  1  resolved  to  reform.  So  one  morn- 
ing I  made  a  great  many  solemn  promises 
about  what  I  would  and  would  not  do  through 
the  day,  and  went  down  stairs  feeling  quite 
happy.  But  as  you  know  perhaps  from  expe- 
rience, it  is  much  easier  to  make  good  resolves 
than  to  keep  them/' 

I  thought  of  the  day  before,  and  sighed,  but 
said  nothing,  and  aunt  Amy  went  on. 

"  I  made  a  little  struggle  against  my  evil 
propensity,  then  gave  up  in  despair  ;  and  when 
I  went  to  bed  that  night,  all  my  good  resolu- 
tions were  broken,  and  I  cried  myself  to  sleep. 
But  my  tears  were  more  of  vexation  than  of 
penitence.  I  felt  provoked  at  myself  for  the 
ease  with  which  I  had  given  up  to  my  beset- 
ting sin,  and  resolved  that  on  the  morrow  I 
would  make  more  strenuous  efforts  at  self- 
control.  The  next  day  came  and  passed  as  the 
day  before.  Thus  a  week  went  by.  Each 
morning  I  made  promises  ;  each  day  they  were 
broken  ;  and  I  all  the  time  was  very  misera- 
ble. Then  I  thought  of  a  new  plan  by  which 
I  hoped  to  achieve  the  end  I  so  much  desired. 
I  would  write  my  good  resolutions  down  in  the 
form  of  a  pledge,  and  see  if  I  could  not  do  bet- 
ter. I  did  so,  but  it  proved  not  much  better 


SELF-CONTROL.  29 

than  the  old  way  ;  and  I  kept  on  fretting,  find- 
ing fault,  and  getting  into  a  passion  every  time 
the  wishes  of  another  came  in  conflict  with  my 
own.  Do  you  know  the  reason,  my  dear  niece  ?" 

"I  can't  tell,  I  am  sure,"  said  I,  "only  it 
seems  very  hard  to  practise  self-control  and  be 
amiable  when  things  do  n't  go  right." 

"  That  is  very  true,"  said  aunt  Amy,  kindly. 
"  It  is  hard  work  when  people  try  to  overcome 
evil  habits  by  their  own  strength,  and  they  are 
always  sure  of  a  failure." 

"  Then  it's  of  no  use  to  try ;  for  who  can  be 
good  ?"  asked  I,  sadly. 

"  Everybody,"  replied  aunt  Amy  ;  "  but  no 
one  of  himself.  There  is  much  in  our  nature 
at  war  with  purity  and  truth  ;  and  it  is  only 
when  the  heart  is  changed  by  divine  grace,  and 
we  are  content  to  give  up  all  into  the  hands  of 
Christ,  that  we  become  truly  good." 

"  I  have  tried  to  be  good  and  failed,"  I  said. 

"  Did  you  ask  the  Saviour  to  help  you  ?"  in- 
quired my  aunt,  looking  tenderly  upon  me. 

I  thought  of  the  hasty  petitions  I  had  offered 
the  morning  before,  and  answered,  "  Not  very 
earnestly,  I  am  afraid." 

"  And  that  is  why  you  failed,  my  dear  niece. 
Prayer  is  not  prayer  unless  it  is  sincere  ;  and 


30  SELF-CONTROL. 

no  petition  is  acceptable  to  the  Lord  unless  it 
conies  from  the  heart.  But  to  my  story  After 
I  had  tried  the  pledge  for  a  while  I  gave  up  in 
despair,  and  went  on  in  the  old  way.  Thus 
several  months  passed,  when  one  Sabbath  I 
went  to  church  as  usual.  Our  good  minister 
took  for  his  text,  "He  that  ruleth  his  own 
spirit  is  better  than  he  that  taketh  a  city."  If 
the  good  man  had  had  special  reference  to  me, 
he  could  not  have  preached  a  sermon  better 
adapted  to  my  case.  I  saw  clearly  where  my 
error  had  been :  I  had  tried  to  rule  my  spirit 
in  my  own  stren'gth,  instead  of  trusting  in  the 
Saviour  for  help,  and  taking  his  word  and  Spir- 
it for  my  guide.  When  I  got  home,  I  went  to 
my  own  little  room  and  prayed  earnestly  to  be 
forgiven  and  to  be  born  again  ;  but  a  thick  veil 
seemed  to  shut  the  light  of  God's  countenance 
from  me,  and  my  heart  was  full  of  darkness 
and  despair.  I  could  not  remember  a  single 
thing  I  had  ever  done  which  would  entitle  me 
in  any  way  to  the  love  of  God  ;  and  I  knew  that 
I  was  utterly  unworthy  of  the  blessings  1  daily 
received  from  his  bountiful  hand.  Oh,  how  self- 
condemned  and  wretched  I  was.  But  when  I 
cried,  '  God  be  merciful  to  me  a  sinner,'  as  I 
hope  with  sincere  penitence  and  faith,  my 


SELF-CONTROL.    *  31 

prayer  was  heard,  and  the  Comforter  came.  A 
peace  which  none  know  but  those  who  feel  it, 
came  into  my  soul.  Then  I  hope  I  realized  what 
was  meant  by  a  new  heart.  My  one  prevail- 
ing wish  was  that  in  all  things  I  might  do  the 
will  of  my  Redeemer.  Since  I  learned  thus  to 
rely  upon  Christ,  I  find  less  difficulty  in  ruling 
my  own  spirit.  It  is  a  pleasure  to  me  to  yield 
my  own  preferences  for  the  benefit  of  others. 
The  love  of  Christ  inclines  me  to  live  more  for 
my  friends  than  for  myself,  and  I  am  always 
happiest  when  trying  to  do  good  in  his  name/' 

Aunt  Amy  had  finished  her  seam  and  her 
story  ;  and  without  making  any  remarks  upon 
what  she  had  said,  she  rose  and  kissed  me,  say- 
ing kindly,  "  Now  you  had  better  try  to  sleep, 
my  dear,  and  I  will  send  Fanny  to  sit  with 
you  while  I  go  and  attend  to  the  dinner." 

So  she  went  out,  and  Fanny  came  and  took 
her  watchful  station  beside  me.  I  closed  my 
eyes,  and  turned  my  face  towards  the  wall,  but 
could  not  sleep,  for  I  kept  thinking  over  aunt 
Amy's  story.  There  seemed  to  be  a  great  sim- 
ilarity between  her  case  and  mine,  and  I  re- 
solved to  try  the  same  mqans,  and  see  if  peace 
would  not  come  to  my  troubled  spirit. 

The  Saviour,  I  trust,  heard  my  cry  to  him 


32  SELF-CONTROL. 

for  mercy.  I  felt  that  my  sins  were  forgiven. 
And  now,  when  wrong  desires  and  passions 
arise  in  my  mind,  I  go  away  by  myself  and 
pray  for  strength  to  subdue  them,  and  God 
helps  me  to  do  so. 

It  was  several  days  before  I  entirely  recov- 
ered from  my  "  aquatic  excursion,"  as  Fanny 
laughingly  called  it ;  and  when  we  went  back 
to  the  city,  I  felt  that  my  visit  to  the  country 
had  been  very  beneficial  to  me  morally,  if  not 
physically,  for  there  I  had  learned  the  great  les- 
son of  Christian  self-control. 

Will  not  some  of  my  dear  little  readers  profit 
by  the  story  I  have  told  them  ?  Is  there  not 
some  one  among  you  who  is  weary  and  dis- 
heartened with  trying  to  be  good  in  his  own 
strength,  who  feels  the  need  of  a  Saviour's  love 
and  aid,  and  is  willing  to  give  up  all,  that  he 
may  inherit  eternal  life  ?  Oh  then,  come  now 
to  the  feet  of  Jesus.  He  will  wash  away  all 
the  stains  that  sin  has  made,  and  give  you  a 
new  heart,  so  that  you  may  live  with  him  in 
peace  on  earth,  and  when  death  comes,  dwell 
for  ever  with  him  in  heaven. 


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